


Save Me

by nigellecter, TaeAelin



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Drowning, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Organized Crime, Panic, References to Drugs, Violence, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:38:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 44,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nigellecter/pseuds/nigellecter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaeAelin/pseuds/TaeAelin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Part 1 (Ch 1-8): </strong>Adam hasn’t been living in Bucharest long, but that’s okay- he has someone who knows the best spots like the back of his hand. One evening, Nigel surprises Adam with a trip to the beautiful Dâmbovița River. But things don’t all go to plan.</p><p><strong>Part 2 (Ch 9-24): </strong>In the midst of a desperate rescue, Adam needs to call for help. Nigel’s phone seems to be working fine, Nigel certainly isn’t. But when Darko arrives on scene, Adam starts to wonder if he really knows Nigel as well as he thought.</p><p><strong>Part 3 (Ch 25-27): </strong>After accidentally witnessing a murder at Nigel's nightclub, Adam isn't sure things will ever be the same again. But with Nigel ill and in need of care, saying goodbye isn't as easy as either of them imagined.</p><p>RP style. Adam/Nigel</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been three weeks since Adam had officially moved to Bucharest, the capital and largest city in Romania. But despite the republic being known as a cultural, industrial and financial hub of activity, Adam wouldn’t have guessed any of these facts from spending time with Nigel alone. Though Adam of course did not believe in such things, all evidence so far pointed to the fact that his Romanian partner had some kind of sixth sense for knowing when not a soul would be around, and tonight was no exception.

Nigel had asked if he would like to close his eyes as they had pulled up to the surprise location on his motorcycle. In truth, it seemed Nigel was not aware that Adam spent most of his time on the back of the bike with his eyes scrunched tightly shut anyway, so this was not all that difficult. As he placed his hand inside Nigel’s larger one, he didn’t even have to worry about where he was stepping, knowing Nigel was going first.

As the traffic from the road faded to a murmur, Adam heard a slow lapping sound in the direction they were headed. When Nigel came to a stop, Adam stood still as a statue, feeling Nigel’s hand contract in a gentle squeeze. With anyone else, he would have needed a verbal confirmation on what this meant, but he was slowly becoming more confident in reading certain cues from Nigel, and knew they had arrived.

Adam peeked his left eye open first, then the right, then both, until the blackness and pinpoints of amber light sharpened into the undisturbed surface of the Dâmbovița River. With lampposts plotted along the concrete promenade, the echo of various musicians busking along the distant footbridge, Adam almost felt they had arrived in some other world.

“Wow. Wow. Nigel, this is… wow” Adam heard himself saying. It wasn’t exactly a very specific explanation of what he was feeling, but he knew Nigel didn’t need words to interpret things. Seeing the glowing city above reflected in the deep black pool, Adam was transfixed. He had always been slightly uncomfortable around water- sports and swimming carnivals usually came with very big crowds and a lot of noise. But the reflection in this river was of the city he loved, the city where Nigel lived. The city that had changed his life. And he wanted to show Nigel that he wasn’t afraid. With a joyful smile on his face, he pulled Nigel’s arm, leading him closer to the sparkling edge.

_____

The soft orange glows lining the outskirts of the river as the sunset paints the sky with pastel, yet chromatically intense shades of ultramarine and alizarin crimson, the night had been crisp and clear with no clouds in sight. Being a local in the city had meant that he had known the most exclusive and secretive location for them to gaze at the stars and perhaps do something more than that, proven by the contents of the compartment. Two large containers of Ciorbă De Perisoare, Romanian staple soup made with pork and rice meatballs with a generous squeeze of lemon juice which makes this traditional soup unique. The cafe downstairs from his flat had the best soup in the city, the old recipe carried down many generations. It had enough substance to make him full and although he hadn’t been a big pork-eater, the soup’s spicy note and hearty flavor satisfied his palates. 

To balance off the spiciness of the soup, cozonac accompanied the savory meal. Although he wasn’t the one to have the sweet tooth, he loved the contrast of raisins and powdered sugar, along with the bottle of whiskey he had brought for the occasion. Having preoccupied with all the meetings with clients and being disposed in other countries in Europe meant Adam had been spending his time venturing the foreign city alone. Dependent on Lonely Planet book as his guide, Adam had been exceptional at memorizing the things he had seen throughout the city, well, at least what he could, without having tiring himself out. Listening to Nigel’s advice and having memorized key phrases like “Puteți să vorbiți mai rar?” and “Vorbiți engleză?” Navigating the section of where Nigel’s flat had been, sector 1, the wealthiest section of the city.

Clad in all black as his sun-kissed skin almost blends along with the dimming atmosphere of the riverside, after having gracefully dismounted and secured the bike near the promenade with the brown bag full of food in his chest, he plucks a cigarette out from the pack inside the chest pocket and lights it, watching the heavy shroud of thick smoke breathing the late summer air. The soup container is still warm against his chest and he can smell the sweet scent of raisins and sugar melted across the sweet top of the bread, his nostrils flare as he feels the rush of nicotine surge straightly into his brain. 

“Just fucking beautiful, isn’t it? This is the secluded location not many know about.” Knowing the water used to be ‘sweet, light and clean’ until Bucharest began swarming with people, faintly remembering the historical tidbit from one of the clients who would occasionally slip one or two facts that he personally considered rather annoying and useless, he knew at least dipping their feet inside the cool water wouldn’t hurt. His taller and broader figure towering over Adam’s as their sides press together, he puts the brown bag over at the ledge of the stone and winds an arm over Adam’s lean waist in return. “Yeah, I thought you’d fucking like this. Isn’t that the Orion you told me. I still remember how frenetically stoked you have been on the bike telling me all the fucking information.”


	2. Chapter 2

Watching Nigel pull out the assortment of different shaped containers, Adam smirked. It was a look he had picked-up from Nigel, to be used when one wanted to convey that they felt fond, but also very amused. He still wasn’t sure if he was getting it right, his mouth all scrunched at the corners, narrowing his eyes a little bit till Nigel blurred at the corners. Thinking the expression felt a bit like the time he accidentally squirted lime juice in his eye, he abandoned the attempt, finding he was already laughing instead.

“In answer to your very many space-related questions, that was!” Adam didn’t have to think about pulling the right faces when he remembered their first night under the stars- his smile spread from ear to ear before he even noticed it.

Helping Nigel peel back the lids on the plastic takeaway bowls, the warmth of the broth escaping over his fingers, he couldn’t help but feel touched Nigel had thought to bring along his favourite cuisine. During his first week living in Nigel’s flat, Adam had felt almost constantly nauseous, the thought of having to deviate from his routine of macaroni-cheese filling him with panic. After he hadn’t eaten for three nights in a row, and both his and Nigel’s attempts at béchamel sauce had resulted in hours of scrubbing-out burnt saucepans, Nigel had decided to introduce him to ‘the mac and cheese of Romania’, and he hadn’t looked back since.

“Acest miroase delicios” he intoned, raising the bowl and taking a meaningful inhale of the steam to make up for any mispronunciation. The bread he hadn’t seen before, but was immediately delighted. The dough was yellow on the outside, a swirl of darker fruit stretching out from the middle in a syrupy replica of the Andromeda Galaxy.

As Nigel’s features clouded behind the cigarette smoke, Adam found himself curiously drawn to the bottle of liquor. Nigel frequently enjoyed various spirits, all of which Adam recognised by their varying degrees of similarly to paint-stripper. But tonight felt special. They were in a different place, seeing different things, but somehow it all still felt safe and comfortable. All the things that mattered were still the same.

Holding up the bottle to the light, he could see the inky surface of the river rippling through the glass. It looked like a postcard- or better still, something he might see in a 70’s musical, with passers-by leaping from behind the lampposts, dancing right along the waters-edge. Most of all, Nigel was right- it looked like something beautiful. And, since he didn’t quite know how to voice the image of his raincoat-wearing cast of synchronised dancers, he decided there was a better way he could share in the moment with Nigel too.

Feeling the lilt of Nigel’s arm around his waist, Adam leaned his head against the man’s shoulder, his weight extinguished against the steady hold. Fishing his opposite hand into the brown paper bag, he brought out two plastic cups, pouring out the whisky for both him and Nigel. He knew Nigel would be surprised, but, like all the things Nigel did for him, he hoped it would be the good kind. Handing one cup to Nigel, he closed the bottle and moved it back a little, nervous he might bump it over the ledge.

“Cheers?”

____

Watching Adam’s face scrunch awkwardly, the face looks like the fresh lemon had been squeezes into his eyes, instead of going all inside the soup. He had remembered one particularly sour occasion where he had been fighting to get all the lemons squeezed inside a big batch of meatball soup he had made without burning down the kitchen and ending up washing his eyes frantically to get the uncomfortable feeling away. He was sure that that incident had made one side of his face more pliable than the other side, as smirking with left side of his face was much more easier than the other. Not that he had to look in the mirror every time he smirked, which would be innumerous.

“Then I fucking want you to tell me about Hercules and I do not, I fucking repeat, I don’t fucking confuse him with Julius Caesar, which I have no idea who that dude even is.” After a teasing roll of his hazel eyes, the fragrant aroma of the rich and greasy broth and citrusy fresh and crisp note of the lemon assaults his nostrils. As the Romanian summer rolled past them to bring the autumn forth, he had looked forward to donning all of his leather apparel, which he had meticulously took care of, better than how he treated his own body. They were his second skin, something that defined him. With the constant wear, the calfskin would stretch according to his frame, fitting him better with the time. Donning his most oldest one, this particular one had been so well-worn that it didn’t even feel like he was wearing it at times. Too much of his scent had been transferred onto the surface. The scent of the motor oil, cigarettes and blood, faint scent of whiskey and bourbon, his sweat. More than his own skin had.

Apart from Iahnie de fasole cu afumătură, bean paste with smoked meat stew that had been another one of those go-to comfort food of his that he enjoyed from time to time when the weather had taken its frigid turn, cozonac brought the feeling of festiveness back. It had been a while he was outside at this time of the day, as he would’ve been disposed at meetings or working inside the club.

“Pentru că este delicios.” Setting the open container and breaking off the piece of cozonac into half, the amalgamation of all the scents that brings all the nostalgic memories. His drifting years from adolescent years comes to mind as if he had filmed each of passing and foggy memories. Some content, some withdrawn into his subconscious mind. There were days when he could only get by with a piece of wheat bread, or rummaging through the garbage as he had relied on his genuine emotions and euphoric experiences through the fleeting high of the adulterated drug. Then, it had been an ongoing struggle with oblivion, as he spiralled into depression.

The only warmth he ever had been the thin blanket inside his flat or way too thin jacket he still has on himself currently to get through the frigid winter, the prospect of spending it with a live body next to him is much more gratifying and relieving than clutching the warmth from the liquor or the warm nicotine rush he gets from smoking the cig.

“Țuică, fucking nice, probably from the last year’s batch. Noroc la noapte.” Cheers to the night. His long fingers wrapping around the cup and giving it a whirl then a whiff, he chugs down the strong liquor. “Fățată, it’s fucking strong stuff. It’s customary for Romanians to serve this to a guest, but I guess you’ve fucking outdone yourself getting this ready.” The strong burn masked by equally strong and sweet taste of plum, the first drink goes down fast, feeling voracious. “Drink the fuck up, it’s supposed to increase your appetite. Hopefully it’ll do the same to you.” His grip around Adam’s midsection tightening as his shoulder warms with the younger man’s weight, the fingers move behind Adam’s neck, unconsciously curling them around the dark hair above the skin.


	3. Chapter 3

Seeing Nigel drain the cup in one, Adam tipped his back too, holding his breath as the acrid spirit poured over his tongue and straight down his throat. The aroma was bit like stone fruit left sitting in the sun all day, the consistency thicker than what he imagined. His whole mouth felt sticky after he swallowed, and he gave Nigel a huge grin. This wasn’t so bad after all. He wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about.

It took a whole three seconds before the sugary aftertones slowly uncoiled, igniting in what seemed to be a fire that spread from his stomach all the way to his head. His mouth still desperately frozen in the smile, Nigel’s expectant gaze quickly became indistinct as Adam’s eyes filled with water. Confused, he tried to blink the liquid back, which only resulted in a flood of tears spilling down his cheeks, hot as the strange prickling sensation now winding through his arms and legs.

Holding his breath so he wouldn’t start coughing, Adam gave Nigel a thumbs-up, nodding rather fiercely to indicate he was still enjoying himself, if a little painfully. Looking around for anything that might quench the burning sensation in his windpipe, the first thing he saw was the cooling bowls of soup. Nigel was absolutely right, he thought. This drink has definitely increased my appetite.

Quickly wiping his nose on his wrist, Adam gulped down a few mouthfuls of soup from the edge of the container, exhaling in relief when this seemed to douse the more immediate symptoms.

“Hercules-” Adam paused to clear his throat, the whiskey having somehow sanded his vocal chords to a rasp “-Hercules is a demi-god of Greek and Roman Mythology, not the Statesman who played a critical role in the rise of the Roman Empire.”

Despite the fact Romania had once been part of ancient Rome, Adam had recently been shocked to discover Nigel in fact knew very little of its history. Somewhere along the line, Adam’s attempts to explain Roman political assassinations had been confused with the story of the son of Zeus slaying the Lernaean Hydra; and Adam now frequently had to remind Nigel that Hercules hadn’t conducted the first invasion of Britain, and Julius Caesar did not have a nine-headed snake mounted on his wall. With his frequent winks and eye-rolls, sometimes Adam wondered if Nigel didn’t just pretend to misunderstand, in order to hear more about one of his favourite warriors.

Staring into the piercing darkness of the lake, Adam thought it was an almost perfect setting for the story of when Hercules entered the Arcadian marshlands to defeat a nest of man-eating Stymphalian birds. As he tried to recall the legend, the usually sharp details felt a little harder to catch hold of, as if his memory was full of effervescent bubbles.

“Alright.” Feeling suddenly animated, Adam pulled himself to his feet, immediately starting to laugh for no reason that was clear to him. “Once Hercules slew the Hydra, he didn’t just leave- he collected as much of the creature’s poisoned blood as he could. When the pet birds of Ares, the god of war, were swarming and murdering men all over Arcadia, Hercules intimidated them into taking flight. From there he was able to shoot the birds down with his poison-tipped arrows-” he balanced on the edge of the pier, miming Hercules taking aim “-destroying most, and scattering the rest far away, never to be seen again.”

Taking a few unsteady steps, Adam looked down to where Nigel was sitting, the man’s long legs reaching toward the smooth water, the lamplight curling around the folds of his favourite leather jacket. As they locked eyes, Adam suddenly felt particularly affectionate, holding his palms out in case Nigel felt the same.

____

A low rumble rattling his chest as the burn carries all the way down to his stomach, the liquor setting inside as the afterburn warms his entire torso. Pouring the second drink as the first seems to evaporate and transverse straight into his brain, the residual burn makes him to crave more, although he knows the effects of the alcohol will hit him much more intense later when the time passes. A second shot, more generous than the first, gets passed as his hand almost blurs, quickly taking the thick alcohol as his amused hazel eyes register Adam’s reaction. Almost every guest that he served the Țuică to, had the similar reaction. 

Feeling the heat in the stomach coil into something like a smoldering fireball inside him, a trail of sweat rolls across the side of his face as he smirks, turning to gaze Adam’s flushed and tearful face and wiping a trail with a fingertip. Adam’s pale skin heated, the salty liquid against his flesh slippery as another finger joins. Taking a paper napkin and handing it to the younger man as he chuckles low, his hand is quick to wipe the other side of Adam’s cheek as he pours another cup inside his. “That wasn’t fucking expected, I guess you aren’t that big of an alcohol drinker. Should’ve gotten the regular stuff. Not the Fățată, everybody seems to mistake that the stronger the Țuică is, better the taste or some shit, as we spend most of the fucking plum harvest to make the liquor. Of course, I prefer the strong stuff, but not many can handle that. Some even dilute it further with juice or ice, but not me.”

The second shot making his stomach to be more dipsomaniacal and voracious, wanting to eat anything he can get his hands on. He wasn’t afraid to taste something new, unless the cuisine had been herbivorous. “I heard you Americans have something called gumbo and okra? I fucking don’t know what that is, but one of my associates who went to the southern states had it and said it’s fucking awesome.” Knowing that he had a spicy palate and preferred to put pepper flakes or hot sauce all over his food. Tonight was no exception. With a container of pepper flakes inside the basket pulled out and clutched like the most important spice of all, flecks of them scatter around rich and warm broth as the heat permeates his nostrils. As his full lips grope around the brim of the container, the lingering burn intensifies as the steamy liquid passes through his throat, warming him up even more to make the alcohol shoot up to his brain. 

With an annoyed roll of his eyes, he scoffs and bites angrily into the meatball, his teeth making loud chomping noise as a feeling of polyphagia takes over. “Like I fucking told you, I know who the fuck Hercules was. The word herculean comes from him, fucking strong, enormous in size and courage, just like he had been.” Shaking his head, the other half of the meatball stuffs inside his mouth as he scoops more pork meatball, specks of onion, peppers, celery and carrots creating a flavorful explosion as he talks with his mouth full. 

“Good, Hercules wasn’t such a fucking dumbass. A strong warrior with a brain as big as his heart, it seems. Courageous and doing whatever he could to? Defeat all of his obstacles?” Casually leaning against the stone ledge of the bridge they are situated on, his hips tilt as his legs cross, ravenously eating all the round balls with renewed appetite. He could feel the heel of his heavy boots glide across the surface of the water, the shadowed silhouette of his form reflected upon as the water continues to ripple with round blurs of orange glows. 

“Don’t fucking tell me that first shot took every bit of Adam ‘the damned smart-ass nerd’ Raki away from me. What else did Hercules do, besides slaying Hydra and killing all those fucking birds to make them into fucking impaled poultry kebabs?” Chuckling as he swallows, he hums as he appreciates the simple, yet complex layers of flavor notes as he interlaces his fingers against Adam’s smaller hand.


	4. Chapter 4

As Nigel devoured the food, yelling about liquor and Americans and how the thing-about-Hercules-which-really-happened didn’t happen, Adam felt even more excited than before. Thanking Nigel for the napkins, he noticed the dreadful scalding sensation had finally subsided, replaced by a comfortable numbness at the back of his throat. The spot where Nigel had touched a finger to his face still felt warm, even after he drew the hand away.

As Nigel knocked back the second glass, Adam hurried to keep up, pouring himself roughly the same amount he saw Nigel drinking. Bracing for the impact, Adam was pleasantly surprised to find his subsequent serve went down a lot easier than the first. This time, he felt more like his stomach was a pit of embers, the liquid slowly stoking them back to life. His breathlessness replaced with a feeling of levity, he could almost imagine what it felt like to walk on the moon, all weightless and heavy at once.

“Gumbo and okra? I didn’t live in New Orleans, you know!” Adam spilled into laughter, feeling as if he could talk for hours. “But if I ever come with you on a business trip to New York City, we should go to Sylvia’s Restaurant- it won People’s Choice for the best smothered pork chops, fried catfish and candied yams the last three years in a row. They don’t even tell you the food is spicy there, because everyone who goes already knows it is. You don’t even start eating without a jug of iced water on the table!”

Grinning at Nigel’s rather affronted declarations that he knew about ancient demigod inside and out, Adam gave the hand a gentle squeeze. If there was one thing Nigel didn’t like, it was being made to feel foolish. And that was a feeling Adam knew all too well. His eyes a little less blurry, he gave what he hoped was a reassuring look, tightening his grip at Nigel’s palm as he realised his legs felt slightly wobbly.

“Hercules was an adventurer, so he did a lot of things. A lot of good things. A lot of…crazy things.” Casting his mind to the labours of the mythical hero, he found his attention wandering to the animated Disney film instead, and made a mental note to add that to the list of things he would have to get Nigel to see.

“And you don’t have to worry-” hearing Nigel’s amused snort, his heart lightened “-nothing took me away. I’m right here-” he gave an affectionate smile, taking a big step back to illustrate the point. “-see?”

As Adam leant his weight into the retreating foot, something didn’t feel quite right. Like the ground wasn’t quite where he expected. Or where it should be. Flinching in surprise, he let go of Nigel’s hand, his balance pulled from beneath him as he slipped toward the river.

____

As a fork pierces and halves the last remaining large ball of pork sphere, a comforting yet cool wind sweeps his frame, flapping his leather jacket and his already wind-chafed hair. Under the glowing lights from rows of streetlights lining the promenade, he combs through his long ashen locks, his natural tones more amplified under the expanding light as the night deepens in color. A mix of caramel and cream with undertone of umber and yellow ochre. If a painter had painted him, Nigel would radiate in warm tones of brown and olive. Hard and cold interior outside with a burning heart that smolders with heated frame, just like how orange balls continue to grow as the night sky surrounds them in darkness. 

The third shot is the charm as his chin tips upward, his eyes closing as he savors the small stream of liquor passes through his throat, creating a much more smooth burn as it warms him even more. The heat radiating off of him, proven by a film of sweat clinging his shirt to his damp skin. Feeling a slow trickle of continuous trail wet the dip of his spine where it graciously curves to his hips, the hem of his shirt catches it before his arm puts the cup down on the ledge. An appreciative low hum rattling his chest as his lips curl up in a broad grin, the liquor in his system makes him a bit tipsy now, having it entered him in a fast pace in rather empty stomach.

“I wouldn’t need a fucking glass of water in front of me to start with, I might sweat like a fucking pig, but have to admit, never had those pork chops, never big on pork myself.” That statement was hypocritical, because he enjoyed certain pork products, such as thick smoked bacon and what he is eating now, made with pork. “I fucking hope it’s all finger licking good, because it’s the goddamn sauce that’ll make me eat tons of those.”

Slightly leaning forward as his bangs curtain one side of his angular face as it creates a shadow, he tilts his head to look at Adam’s direction as the container empties. The last half of the ball stuffed inside his mouth as he greedily chews it down. “So he was a lot like me, a fucking daredevil, explorer, somewhat of an opportunist. I did lots of fucking crazy things. Have I fucking told you about how I got this damn fucking scar?” Giving the younger man’s arm a tug, his unrestrained boisterousness is about to take off and that is when Adam falls toward the river. His reaction time too slow to even catch the sleeve of Adam’s shirt and knowing they’re in the middle of the bridge with the deep water surrounding them as the other’s form disappears deeper as the water consumes him, he doesn’t even hesitate as he jumps into the murky and pitch-dark water. Too late to be swimming in the coldness as the nipping water penetrates through all the pores of his clothes, he mutters in Romanian, his favorite phrase of all. “Rahat dracului.” as he holds his breath to swim towards Adam. 

Not having considered at all the accumulated weight of his heavy boots, leather like jeans that weighted even more than those regular ones he had, the leather jacket had to be the worst, as there was no possible way of swinging and maneuvering his extremities like he could when he’s in his usual speedos or one of those gaudy beach shorts. 

Through the ripped openings on his jeans, the water makes a quick work of penetrating Nigel’s warmth and extinguishing it in a blink of an eye and as he blinks once, all the rippling orange glows seem to die along as his own does as he sinks under the inkiness of the water.


	5. Chapter 5

In the split-second it took for his fingertips to slide out of Nigel’s, somehow, Adam still thought it was going to be okay. Nigel always made everything okay. Even as he plunged backward, seeing Nigel’s frantic grasp just missing his shirt, watching his face fall from surprise, to shock, to horror… it didn’t quite feel real. Like any moment, Nigel would just reach down, and then they would be laughing and eating pork meatballs and teasing each other, like nothing ever happened. And then he hit the water.

More than the abrupt, razor-sharp cold, the first thing that crushed him was the sound. As his spine split the undisturbed surface, watery needles racing up and wrapping around his neck, his eardrums rang with the backfire of the splash, his own piercing yell swallowed by the deluge. His thin cotton shirt and trousers, which had felt like a second skin in the mild autumn evening, now thickened into something dense and coarse, hundreds of slippery hands clawing at his limbs. With every thrashing movement he made, the grip tightened. He realised that no matter how serene the river may have looked, it was far deeper than it was beautiful, and nowhere near as friendly.

His face barely broke the surface as he saw Nigel leap after him.

“NO!” Adam shouted, but his voice was submerged in the churning current, and he took a gulp of water as the weight of his clothes once again dragged him under the swell. Quickly kicking off his canvas shoes, his arms madly flailed for the ripples above as a fresh wave of liquid washed him further from the bridge.

The amber lamplight piercing the depths, Adam could just make out the form of Nigel’s body as he curved into the water, swift and graceful and strong. A glut of bubbles exploded in his wake, spinning up toward the air. Through the melting, heaving shadows, Nigel was by his side. It was all Adam needed to realise, he could do this. He just had to head toward the surface.

Kicking his legs with greater purpose, Adam gained enough leverage to feel encouraged, repeating the motion with his arms this time. He had swum in a hotel pool before. This was the same, just with a few… handicaps.

As his head collided with the night sky, he sucked the air like he would never breathe again. His throat was clogged with water, his hair plastered over his eyes, but he wasn’t hurt, he wasn’t panicking, and most of all, he wasn’t sinking.

“Well, I guess you wanted me to see the Dâmbovița River!” Adam yelled happily, spitting out what he hoped was just a leaf. “Now I can safely say we have the experience covered!”

Pinching his leaking nose, he raked the mess of hair back from his forehead, his eyes stinging as he blinked them free from the icy droplets.

“Nigel?”

Whipping his head around each of his shoulders, the river suddenly felt ready to bite through his very skin, his chest once again tightening. “Nigel? Are you joking with me? I’m kind of not sure if you’re joking with me!”

His movements growing more rapid, Adam couldn’t stop himself looking wildly from side to side, each time expecting to see Nigel right behind him, smirking, ready to splash him with a handful of water. Except he had made several rotations, and Nigel hadn’t appeared in any of them. And it now seemed like an awfully long time ago that he saw Nigel jump in.

“Nigel?? Is someone here? Can someone help!?”

The silence screamed right back at him, suffocating all thoughts but terror. He had never seen someone in trouble before, he wasn’t even sure his First Aid certificate was in date. He wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t even a very good swimmer. Adam had no idea what to do. Nigel was the kind of person who made decisions like this, in the heat of the moment, when there wasn’t time to think. Nigel always knew what to do when his whole world was falling apart. Nigel…

Adam took a sudden, painful gasp.

_…would have already dived down after him._

“Oh my god…” Adam babbled, his eyes focusing on the fading surge of water. He sucked a deep breath.

_Please hold on._

____

There was a time he had been sinking like this, feeling much colder, much in desperation and in desolation. The water turning on him like prickling needles, piercing him from every direction possible. The motorcycle sinking along with him at the bottom, the stream rippling through his much heavy layer of clothes seem to ripple through every nerve and vein inside of him like the biting coldness would cut him piece by piece. Like a plier cutting through a thick wire, or much more effortless than that, a knife cutting through a butter left out in a room temperature.

Feeling of sinking had him to think of the traumatic experience, the times when he had been much depressed, feeling left alone, despite his ever growing and thriving business. Under the steel composure and poker faced nonchalant facade of his work ethics, there was Nigel, who had been emotionally vulnerable, the steel walls melting down and stones crumbling as soon as he had set his feet into his dimly lit flat, mirroring his own darkened mind. It wasn’t his own death, blood, getting injured and being in an excruciating pain, fighting with infections and complications, loss of memory, functions and controls that he had feared. It was the most basic human emotion, feeling unloved and abandoned that had rendered him useless.

No matter how other people termed him of being an animal, a monster, a predator, an alpha, on top of the food chain that is supposed to consume and devour other beings, he was as broken and damaged, vulnerable and imperfect like others had been. He just didn’t like to admit his weakness. The things that proved he was indeed human.

The surface of the water seems so close, yet too far. Out of his reach by the length of his arm, the water-clogged sleeves of his shirt and leather makes it all too hard. He had been wearing his favorite one, the ones with intricate patches sewn on top of the layer, some ornamental strips decorating the front lining where the zippers were and thin chain around the belt and his jeans adding extra, unnecessary weight that functioned more as a decorative, rather than making the wearer utilize their functions.

Doing his absolute best to break the surface, but his limbs feel heavy as the surrounding water envelops him in complete darkness. His eyes open and all he can register is Adam’s faint form, blurry in its distance and the ever decreasing amount of orange glow fading from his sight, along with fewer and fewer bubble spheres escaping his closed and pursed lips and nostrils. Feeling the jet of water surge into his nose, directly into his lungs, soon, they will fill up with pitch ink and there would be no space for his chest to expand and supply oxygen as all of the bronchi would close and fill up. Soon, panic subsides and replaced by tranquility. The first time had been filled with sanguine tints, appearing black under the moonlight and inside the bottomless pit. The second time such as this is much easier.

_La revedere, lume nenorocita._

With more stream of water vacuumed into his windpipe, feeling it like it is sealing an expiration date on his lifespan, he feels like floating on cloud, rather than sinking now. Life is but an empty dream, his span of human life not even lasting half the century, his life feels as transient as a drop of dew on grass, fugacious as the sun dries it off, it could be fallen onto the dirt, merging with where it came from the first place.

Leaving it to chance and Adam’s swimming abilities, his peripheral vision catches the last disappearing bit of light glowing across his free flowing long locks of hair, dancing along with the soft rippling water as the wind blows. All the noises drowned as the only thing he focuses is his dwindling and weakening heartbeat, the last trail of thought before he completely loses his consciousness is this.

_Salvează-mă, eu nu vreau să mor dracului, doar încă._


	6. Chapter 6

Aiming for the spot he saw Nigel go under, Adam feels as if he’s swimming against syrup. He tries to concentrate on moving his arms and legs in a rhythm, rather than kicking them all at once. He isn’t even too far down before the pressure starts to throb at his ears, a twinge of panic starting in his stomach. There wasn’t a part of his body that the water hadn’t closed around, twisting and tightening with every stroke down. He isn’t in a small space. No- this is worse. There is no space at all.

His eyes burning through the unfiltered murk, his heart starts to palpitate, his body twitching and contracting, begging him to turn back. It will only get worse as he gets deeper. Like being locked in a room with no escape. Like being buried alive.

He tries to do the exercises- tries to visualise something other than the landslide of passageways, the crowded train and his father telling him they had broken down in the middle of the tunnel. He tries to disassociate the present from the memory. Except, in all those exercises, they tell you to firstly sit still, and secondly to breathe. And right now, Adam couldn’t have been exerting his limbs harder if he tried, and his lungs were squashed full of expired air.

Something brushes against his fingertips. For a minute, Adam’s throat stings with relief, until he realises it’s only the hook of a submerged branch, sifting through the cold. And that’s when it hits him. It is so, so dark. There are no arms or hands or leather jackets, waiting just outside his reach. The only thing he can see below him is black.

Glancing at the puddle of orange waning over his shoulder, Adam immediately wishes he didn’t. He hadn’t realised just how far he’d already swum, how deep Nigel must have plunged. And it’s too much. In a burst of terror, Adam feels himself losing control, his arms and legs thrashing wildly as he turns toward the surface. He’s out of air, out of time, and he’s going to die. Nigel’s going to die. And it’s all his fault.

 _Well not really._ A voice said. _It was me who jumped straight fucking headfirst, didn’t I?_

A well of emotion spurts through Adam’s chest, and he feels himself ripping apart. He wants to answer ghost-Nigel, and tell him that if he hadn’t been so clumsy, he wouldn’t have needed to be saved in the first place. And if he could actually drink whiskey without turning into a babbling mess, he wouldn’t have been so clumsy. And if he hadn’t been so curious and overwhelmed by every single thing Nigel happened to take him to see, they wouldn’t have even been at the river. They could have just been at home, on the rooftop, trying to spot shooting stars.

Adam feels the vigor drain from his muscles, the weight of the realisation more suffocating than every ounce of the unforgiving water. A sweet, sickening sensation starts at the back of his mouth, the worthless air trying to escape. He lets himself drift askew, the bubbles draining from his mouth and toward the blurry sky.

 _I am so sorry_ Adam pleads _I’ll do anything if you can just be okay. I’ll never look through a telescope again. I don’t even need to. You’re my whole universe, right here, on earth._

The voice doesn’t answer. Not even ghost-Nigel is left to tell him, death doesn’t make deals. Turning over, Adam stares into the glowing, dusty dark.

Which is when he sees the silhouette.

In a split second, Adam’s senses come rushing back to him. Nigel isn’t at the bottom of the river- he had barely sunk more than a couple of feet from the surface. But he wasn’t moving.

Seizing whatever energy was left unspent, Adam thrust himself upward. Whether through fear or joy, the pitch in his lungs grew more and more fevered as he neared Nigel’s limp form, a burst of colour erupting into his field of vision as his head spun and wavered. At first, he catches Nigel beneath both arms, but finding this too slow, grabs him by the back of the collar instead. Just a few more kicks and…

Adam’s head breaks through to the air, pulling Nigel close behind. Wrapping an arm over Nigel’s chest, Adam tries to support the back of Nigel’s head somewhere between his shoulder and collarbone. In between, he can hear himself talking, shivering out some incoherent nonsense, begging Nigel to breathe. Then he looks toward the riverbank. It’s a long way.

 _Please wake up please wake up please wake up please wake up please wake up_ , Adam chants inside his head.

 _Adam_. The other voice answers. _Start fucking swimming._

____

Once his limp body goes unconscious, the golden manes dance across the ripples, the orange glow mingling along the rising current as his dark silhouette halts from sinking further. As his brain shuts down, the neurons and nerves becoming static, his half-shut eyes losing the usual intenseness as it stares into nothingness, everything becomes pitch black, a void he cannot escape. Perhaps it is the black hole where he’s vacuumed through. No light or any other matter able to escape. Disappearing from the world as his body would sink eventually onto the deep body of water, camouflaged by the coarse sand, the view obscured by the nebulous fogginess.

As the last breath escapes his slack mouth, bubbles rising and breaking the surface for the last time, the absolute last chance for anyone to see if it’s even noticeable under the hazy blend of shades. By this time of the night, the horizon, the surface of the water and bridge would be almost indistinguishable, minus the streetlights that light the promenade.

Through the slitted opening, his airpipe continues to fill with the murky water, some debris from broken branches, leaves, grains of sand, small particles surge inside his lung, shutting off the bronchi as his life continues to fade. Three hundred seconds, then brain death will be imminent, resulting in extinguishment of his smoldering flame. No matter how grave his injuries were, no matter how many times he had escaped death by a slip, this one seems to seal the deal.

The oscillating light of the orange halo upon his back, his head sways along with the water, chin tilting to dig into his chest, a veil of his ashen locks the only visible and clear sign that it is indeed a person down there. His extremities moving along with the current, the clock continues to click down. _Two hundred fifty, two hundred forty-nine…._

Was this the feeling, being alone, floating in space. Although he lacked the knowledge, he knew that his body wouldn’t be just floating in the cloudlike, feeling like an atom in a vast universe in obfuscated blackness. More than being inebriated with booze, more than experiencing the buoyant feel of floating on the cloud nine, the dying flame inside feels as if the sparks will burn through his skin, as the pressure would make his body to expand and explode like a balloon pierced with a needle. There is a still undying flickering light underneath his core, waiting to be inflamed.

As Adam’s arms wrap around underneath his limp ones, his head tilts back, his hair swirling across and gliding against his static face, slapped on his sharp features as his head finally breaks the surface. Like a light approaching in the darkness of the night, Adam’s arms act as the fuel and firewood to the dying and smoldering fire unattended, like flaccid plant stems and as limp as a rag, his only lifeline as he completely relinquishes his vitality.

Each second feels way too quick, like the dynamite’s fuse burning, the timer on the bomb ticking. _One hundred ninety six, one hundred ninety five…_

His indomitable side of the brain continues to slap him in the cheek, turning them puffed up and reddened with strong successive blows. _Wake the fuck up, you’re not going to go like this. You’re fucking stronger than this, you fuck._

Still falling senseless against Adam’s hold by the collar and his head drooped over Adam’s collarbone, his slack mouth dribbles water as long drooping branches of a willow tree lets rainwater drop along them. His hair now hanging down to his shoulders slouch across the surface of the water.

_Salvează-mă din acest întuneric nenorocit._

_Flacăra din mine moare, aproape să se stingă._


	7. Chapter 7

One arm hooked around Nigel’s chest, Adam uses the other as a paddle, sweeping across the water in long strokes. He moves his legs too, though they keep getting tangled in Nigel’s. For each pull in the right direction, Nigel’s heavy leather jacket uncoils and bunches up again, welling over Adam’s torso as he tries to keep Nigel’s head afloat. For a second, he wants to stop and try to take it off, as well as the various buckles, chains and other superfluous accessories he never really noticed Nigel was wearing. Then he imagines Nigel’s face upon hearing all his favourite things are at the bottom of the river. He decides it would probably take too long to remove them all anyway.

Leaning his cheek at the side of Nigel’s face, he hears a constricted sort of gasp. It’s the kind of breathing sound that would send him into a fit of worry on a normal day, but the fact Nigel is breathing at all is enough to fill his eyes with tears. Trying to redirect the surge of emotion back into swimming in a straight line, Adam can see a point where the concrete riverbank seeps lower than the rest, a disused pipe protruding from the side.

“Nigel” he starts, trying to reassure himself as much as anything. “I’m so sorry, but I’m basically going to be dragging you over a sewer.”

Nigel makes a low choking sound. Suddenly realising this isn’t the sort of bedside manner likely to encourage someone to wake up, Adam quickly backtracks.

“I’m going to be dragging you over a sewer, because I love you so very, very much.” Swallowing, he pushes against the water with renewed vigour. “I love you, and I would do anything for you, and if I had one wish right now, it would be for a second you to come and save the first you… because you’re the only one I trust… with something as important as… you.”

Starting to wonder if he’d left his senses downstream as well as his shoes, Adam gave Nigel an encouraging squeeze. The lamplights at the shore didn’t seem quite so far away as before he started speaking.

“And… if I had a second wish, I’d use a time machine to go back and choose water polo as my high school elective instead of robotics society.” Adam nudged his cheekbone against Nigel’s forehead, trying to convince himself Nigel had always been this pale. “Although you never know… that may have just resulted in me almost drowning twenty years earlier instead.”

Adam gave a shaky smile, knowing Nigel would have laughed if he’d been listening. Even though it wasn’t really funny. But Nigel always got things like that.

By the time Adam felt the concrete wall bump against his back, his whole body was trembling with exhaustion. Raking his fingers over the edge of the pipe, he tried to clasp an indent where moss hadn’t yet made the surface slippery and yielding. Sobbing in frustration when each attempt landed him squarely back in the river, he tried to hook the bend of his arm over the turn of the drain instead, finally gaining some leverage. Keeping one hand at Nigel’s collar, he scraped himself over the pavement, feeling the stony edges raking through his shirt and gouging his stomach. Twisting around, he reached the other arm down for Nigel, gripping both hands firmly under his arms and hoisting him upward. It wasn’t the gentlest maneuver, and he felt something tear beneath his shoulder blade as he did so. But he had done it.

Breathless, Adam rolled Nigel onto his side, desperately hoping he wouldn’t faint before it was all over. “Nigel…” he whispered, leaning over his face. “Can you squeeze my hand?”

With the other, Adam fumbled his wet phone out of his pocket, trying for the on button. A trickle of water poured out instead. Turning back, he cupped his hand under Nigel’s jaw, searching for any possible obstructions to his airway. Nothing. The faint gurgling at the back of Nigel’s throat continued.

His heart breaking, Adam placed a hand at Nigel’s chest, the thin pulse echoing back through his palm.

“If I had a third wish” Adam mumbled, barely able to speak. “I’d wish it had been me.”

____

The pitch-blackness in his view haloes out to become grayer and grayer, until the blinding light unobstructed against his wide-blown hazel irises assaults them.  _Am I fucking dead?_ After all those fucking incidents, including his impulsive attempt to kill himself disguised as a heavy traffic accident, bouts of almost overdosing on his choice of stimulant and depressant, cocaine and morphine and the deep gash that had rendered him immobile for long months alone on his bed, escaping death by slim margins,  _is this how I fucking go?_  But it had been worse before, his favorite bike had become a mere scrap metal in the junkyard when it had been plucked off from the bottom of the river and the excess drug had to flush out of his system. His prominent gash, he still had been suffering from infections and complications.

Entangled with whatever crap that had been buried beneath the murkiness that had became the river, all the sewage, debris, trash, unfiltered goop that had now filled up his pores and windpipe. By the time Adam pulls his leather jacket, all the fashionable accessories that serve no crucial function at all except being there for decorative reasons now are merely becoming a hindrance as the weight continues to sink his limp body underneath the surface of the rippling water. The water drenched calfskin and denim is no help, as they gain weight and weighs Nigel’s muscular and toned body down further. 

Beneath all the ash and soot of the fireplace, a small fire laid underneath, just waiting to be inflame and burn. As much as he had his bouts of self-destructive tendencies and there were days when he took his life for granted as he had failed to appreciate it, because all he had been doing is to push it far and he felt like he had been holding onto the last clutch. Having been oblivious to the red flag of his narcotics and alcohol abuse. He thought his volatile and staunch hedonistic lifestyle had been predestined, although it had been his wrongdoing. It was his easy way out, as he could say whatever the fuck happens, it was meant to be and no one could prove wrong. It had been his calling, hitting the rock bottom, fighting with his own demons as he continued his descent. His attitude and actions weren’t going to shift gears in the middle of his life.  

_Just leave me be. Don’t even fucking bother to stop me, if you do, I’ll fucking kill you all._

Until he had met Adam, his metastasized violent tendencies slowly subsided, as if he needed some kind of clutch, a pendulum maintaining the middle ground, a balancing element to quench his undying thirst for substances. He had been much more ebullient, optimistic and even affectionate, more so than he had been with Gabi. Like a dying fish on the ground as the gill’s movement slows, the back of his throat makes a soft noise, a sign of still burning fire inside his heart as it faintly pumps. His body oscillates like the plants underneath the ocean and the soft lighting of the lamplights accentuate his angular features. 

Adam’s rather chatty revelation somewhat working to ameliorate his faltering heartbeat as deep inside his throat, through half-submerged water, the water backtracks through the larynx and vocal chords, the muscles involuntarily moving to backtrack the water out. His own body fighting for survival. As the tug of war continues as his life merely hangs in balance for a minute or two, the cold water of fall poses a new threat. His heart could get too cold and cause cardiac arrest if his larynx muscle relaxed and let in more of the cold water. Just before it happens, Adam’s hands pull his heavy and slumped body onto the shore rather unceremoniously and in a rough manner, but it gets the job done. Keeping him away from the water to prevent him from inhaling more of the murky water. 

His veins constricting as the body fights to keep the vital organs to pump blood, his faint heartbeat slowly begins to lift his chest as water dribbles from his lips, which had turned color due to the cold temperature of the water. A slight tremor rattling his entire body as his dripping hair covers the side of his face in a fan, his shoulder slightly lurches as the gurgling becomes louder. The heavily shut lashes on his pallid visage flutters as he escapes from the darkest time, recovering his consciousness as his head begins to spin. Behind the closed eyes, he feels the arctic coldness creep in, his cumbersome legs unconsciously curling to keep the warmth contained as his head recoils backward and forward, jets of water trickling down to the concrete as the coughing fit continues. 

His fingers weakly moving to brush against Adam’s hand, his drooping shoulders rolls to his back, feeling the graveled ground scrape against his torn jacket. Feeling like the flowers in the vase drooping in the cold room, with the frostbite covering their pedals as it loses its vitality and vivid colors, his languidness weakens his physical abilities. “P-prea rece…” His core heat diminishing gradually as he trembles all over like an aspen leaf, his knees and teeth knocked together.        


	8. Chapter 8

Clutching Nigel’s listless hand, Adam stares back to the road. He needs to get to a phone. And more importantly- get Nigel out of here. As an icy breeze rolls over the river, he feels the man twitch beneath his hold, his lips already bruising a thin shade of purple as the blood drew back from his face. Adam can barely feel the temperature at all- his heart is still pumping from the desperate swim from the bridge, now increasing with his anxiety.

“Nigel, I need to get you to a hospital- we need to find an ambulance.”

If Adam can just hail a passing car, maybe he could barter for a lift. Or at least, a way to call 112. As much as he doesn’t want to leave Nigel alone, it seems like a better plan that watching him sink into hypothermia on the pavement. And if there’s another option, Adam doesn’t have time to think of it.

Scrambling to his feet, Adam is a few steps into a run when something pulls him back, sharp as a hook round his ankles. Something Nigel had said to him, in his very first week in Bucharest.  _Do not ever, I repeat, fucking ever, flag down a car you don’t know. This isn’t America. Not everyone’s as friendly as me._  Adam hadn’t been sure if Nigel was joking. To everyone except him… he wasn’t exactly sure Nigel was all that friendly.

Hesitating, Adam turned to see Nigel jerk his legs closer to his chest, coughing up a mouthful of water. Sprinting back to the crumpled figure, Adam collapsed to his knees, his hand finding the centre of Nigel’s back. Rubbing as softly as possible, Adam tried his best to cup the other beneath Nigel’s head, preventing him from grazing himself against the concrete as his body convulsed with the fit.

“It’s okay… that’s good, it’s all going to be okay…” Adam whispered, not sure the statement did much to help, but wanting it to be true enough to try.

As Nigel’s torso continued to shiver and contract, Adam heard a sharp clatter, and saw Nigel’s mobile had slipped from his pocket, landing squarely on the concrete. Not an American phone, but one of the local brands, the kind Adam saw most of Nigel’s associates carry too. To his surprise, the screen lit up.

Snatching up the object, Adam pressed the icon that looked like a telephone. A grid of numbers popped up in response. In that moment, Adam found the flickering keypad more beautiful than all the scenic rivers in the world combined.

About to dial the emergency response unit, Adam hears a choked murmur escape Nigel’s lips, and his heart immediately seizes with recognition. Quickly lying on the wet ground beside, Adam gently manoeuvres Nigel’s head onto his warm chest, wrapping an arm around his trembling back. Casting his finely tuned memory back to the various phrases he had asked Nigel to translate from time to time, Adam tried to weave something together that Nigel would understand.

“ _Eu sunt aici… sunt aici pentru tine.”_  Holding the phone above him, Adam smoothed his cheek to Nigel’s forehead. “This will all be over soon. I’m just going to call a-”

Halting, his memory suddenly flashed on another comment Nigel had once made. A particularly vigorous one too.  _I fucking hate hospitals. Do not ever fucking take me to one. If I end up in a medical ward, I’ll arrive in a black bag before an ambulance._

His eyes watering with frustration, Adam gave Nigel another comforting squeeze as he felt the man shudder against his soaked shirt.

“Nigel, you’re not leaving me with many options!” he wailed, pressing the cancel key. Next to it, a small icon of an address book caught his eye. _Contacts._

His pulse hastening with nerves, Adam couldn’t help be aware that as much time as Nigel spent making business, talking about business, cursing about business… Adam had never once spoken a single word to any of his business colleagues. He didn’t really know a thing about them, except that they all spent a good deal time at the Krystal Glam nightclub, wore a lot of black, and apparently all favoured very robust mobile phones.

And Nigel had never explicitly said  _not_  to talk to them. In fact, more than any of his warnings and vaguely protective threats… Adam could also recall one of Nigel’s more favoured axioms-  _Never fucking leave me._  And if he didn’t get Nigel someplace less exposed soon… it would be the other way around.

Pressing the icon, a list of names and numbers jumped into view. Adam didn’t recognise any of them. But they seemed to be ordered by most recently dialled. And there was one in particular that appeared with greater frequency than the rest. Pulling Nigel closer into his chest, Adam tapped the number, then raised the phone to his ear.  _Fingers crossed this guy has a car._

____

Something akin to a bee swarm takes over his spinning head as his body continues to fail to produce heat more than he’s losing it, Nigel could hear the gust of wind sweep through his trembling body. Through his chattering teeth and convulsing movement of his torso as he feels the graveled surface underneath, the overwhelming desire to live continues inside him. His heart trying to frenetically pump blood to make all the vital organs work. Focusing on the he thundering of his heart, the lub and dub as turbulent flow of blood sends his chest to tighten. Then, his shivering halts. The leather jacket feels especially frigid as the calfskin retains the cold water. 

Frantically shaking his head, his darkened and drenched bangs whip across his plump cheeks.  _Nu nenorocit spitale, nici o ambulanță nenorocit. No fucking hospitals nor a goddamn ambulance. The mere thought of fucking hospitals and the smell of disinfectants and sterilized anything makes me fucking nauseous._

Blue shaded lips stretching thin as his teeth dig into his lower lip, the bridge of his nose gathers ever so slightly, causing the corner of his eyes to crease. Still heavily lidded open merely into slits, the rippling gold and orange hues that glimmer across the murky water and lighting the pitch-black sky painted with celestial bodies seem to swirl in front of him like a churning ice cream. Adam’s drenched silhouette merely becoming a dancing ghost.  

Leaning against Adam’s touch, although the younger man’s hand is cold against his back and he was the one to run warmer than most people did, but when he knows, he surely knows. All the amalgamation of whirling sounds that palpitate through his body pinpoints to the imminent danger he’s in.  Even he wasn’t educated in emergency procedures, his body instinctively remembers how to keep itself warm. Leather jacket already having slid off his slouched shoulders, his waterlogged boots plant firmly against the ground, albeit his lack of control of his muscle prevents him from getting a strong leverage.

Then there is a bit of warmth that begins to ooze and seep into his back, through the thin shirt which he shouldn’t be wearing in this awful occasion. The rough surface of the concrete riverbank drawing blood along his back, a faint trail of warmth painting his back in a pinkish tone. He knows the core of his body is dropping, like the smoldering fire in the fireplace left unattended for too long. The crackling fire needing of firewood, something remotely similar or a substitution. Only a minute movement feels strenuous, as his usually healthily glowing tanned olive skin gradually turning sickly pallid, his fingers curl as the tips dig into the roughness of the ground, trying to shuck off his too heavy and burdensome leather jacket.  

“ _Indiferent de dracu ’ faci, am încredere în judecata ta dracului._ ” Mumbling through the clattering teeth as his slurred words break the swirling sensation around him as he lowers his head, his back awkwardly hits the edge of the canal where the sewerage had been. Feeling his soaked jeans rip through the back as he drags his legs, somewhat out of his control as they merely feel like an attachment.   

Trying to register the situation as the pieces slowly come together like a scattered middle pieces of puzzle does, his cell phone, dumped plan of calling the ambulance nor flagging for a ride to the hospital, which he had been rather glad, albeit the dreadful situation he had been in. His body unconsciously curling into a ball as his hand latches tightly under his armpits, his knees pulled up, chin digging into his knees as his tremor stops. Through his slack mouth, his breaths become more shallow as his bleary eyes shoot up for the last time before he feels his vision slowly fade. The lively spread of glittering flecks of the lights dimming inside his hazel irises.

_Call Darko._  The wind picks up its speed and his heartbeat gradually becomes slow, his bent legs giving up as his head rolls backward, his black-clad body feels like it’s sinking further into the unconsciousness, hovering over the edge of the void. 


	9. Chapter 9

On the second ring, a curt voice answers.

“ _Despre timp dracului, am încercat să dau de tine toată noaptea.”_

“H-hello?” Adam stutters, caught off-guard by volley of Romanian.

A pause on the end of the line, and he hears the man click his tongue against his teeth. “Hello to you too. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

In English, the voice sounds heavy and low, dragging against the oily slick of an accent. Despite the meticulously polite phrasing, Adam can’t help feel the words and tone don’t match somehow.

“This is Adam Raki.” Clearing his throat, Adam gathers his bearings. “M-may I ask who I’m talking to? I’m calling from Nigel’s phone.”

“I very well realise that” the man gives a soft laugh, not the kind that usually follows a joke. “Adam Raki. Nigel’s little pet, hmm? This is Darko. His… _associate_.”

“Not his pet” Adam stumbles, confused by this misunderstanding. “His partner. And we need help. There’s been an accident.”

At this, he hears a scuffle of background noise, then a crisper sort of silence. When Darko speaks again, his voice sounds a little louder, his enunciation a little clearer.

“What sort of  _accident_?”

“We were at the Dâmbovița River. I mean, are at. We still are at the River” Adam hastened to clarify. “I fell in, Nigel jumped in to save me, and then he almost drowned. I pulled him out, but he swallowed a lot of water, he’s coughing, shivering, and now he’s curled up and gone all pale…” Adam trailed off, desperately trying to hug some warmth into Nigel’s body as he spoke. He didn’t think it was doing much good, he was hardly any drier.

“Where are you?”

“Next to the bridge, the third turn-off after that roundabout that looks like a teapot” Adam felt his face crease to a frown. He hadn’t quite realised how unfamiliar he was with the streets of Bucharest until now, when it actually mattered.

“Stay there. Do not leave him. Do not move. Do not fucking call anyone else. Wait for me.”

Wiping his nose on his sleeve, Adam shuddered into a nod, then realised Darko couldn’t see him. “Okay, yes, okay.”

The phone went dead. Adam turned to see that Nigel had struggled out of his leather jacket, a few words slipping between his chattering teeth. Adam smoothed back the mess of his hair, rubbing slow circles between his shoulder blades.

“Just a little longer, okay? I’m taking care of this… and, and taking care of you. I can fix this.”

Adam had never felt less confident of anything in his life, but he kept talking until they were no longer alone, Darko’s black oxfords echoing across the asphalt as he strode sharply into view.

Without even a greeting, Darko stared down at them, his expression deepening where Adam couldn’t follow. With an abrupt jerk of his head, Darko motioned toward a black Mercedes pulled up on the curb, opaque tinted windows and smooth customisations that Adam knew for a fact were illegal. When Adam, didn’t move, Darko gave a tight flick of his hand. “Get him up. To the car. Now.”

Pulling Nigel’s limp arm over his shoulder, Adam managed to walk him a few paces before Darko had to assist from the other side. If their places had been reversed, Adam knew Nigel could have slung him across both arms no problem. But at least they were getting somewhere. This would have to make do.

Laying Nigel across the leather seats in the back, Adam sits so he can rest Nigel’s head in his lap, securing the middle seatbelt around his waist just in case. Darko slams the driver-side door, curving back into the streets with surprising smoothness, considering their speed.

“Are we going back to our place? Mine and Nigel’s?” Adam babbles, running his hand gently over Nigel’s chest, cool and clammy beneath the drenched shirt. “He needs a doctor.”

“No doctors” Darko snapped. “And your place is on the other side of this city. Not enough time. We’re taking him to the club.”

Searching for anything that looked familiar out the window, all Adam could recognise was the same blur of colour and alleyways that had marked their journey over. “The club? You mean… the Krystal Glam nightclub?”

“No, I mean Queen Victoria’s fucking tearooms at the Golf Club.” Darko shot a glance over his shoulder, frowning at Adam’s blank expression. “Yes, the nightclub, Adam. Jesus.”

“I don’t think he’s in the mood to party.” Adam ventured, growing more miserable by the second.

“You’d be surprised” Darko gave a harsh laugh. “But we’ll take him to one of the hotel suites upstairs. The ones we reserve for special clients. The  _nice_ ones.”

None of this seemed to compute for Adam. He knew Nigel owned a nightclub. But somehow… he’d never really thought to ask more about what he actually did there. Or the sort of people who visited. He didn’t think it was common for a nightclub to have suites reserved for wealthy clients. He thought people just went to nightclubs to make friends and dance.

It wasn’t long before they pulled up at the back entrance. It wasn’t nearly as flashy as the front, and Adam saw several skimpily-clad women scattering into the shadows the moment Darko emerged from the vehicle. Wrenching open the back door, he gathered his hands under Nigel’s arms, not bothering to ask for Adam’s help.

“He’s going into shock. The sooner we get him upstairs, the better.”

“…shock?”

Nigel’s arm over his shoulders again, Adam hoisted him into the awaiting elevator, Darko pushing the button on one of the higher floors. Adam thought he saw Nigel’s eyes flutter open as the doors drew closed, but then again, the lights in the Krystal Glam nightclub were extremely flickery already.

“Shock. Ever done something scary, Adam? That makes your body feel like it’s shutting down, from the inside out. It’s what might happen the first time you pull the trigger. And not at target practice.”

Adam shook his head. He hadn’t pulled a trigger at target practice, let alone _not_  at target practice. He had no idea what Darko was referring to. The next closest he could think of was having a panic attack. And he’d had enough of those to know it wasn’t pleasant.

Darko grunted, seemingly unsurprised. “May not sound like much, but shock can kill you, same as a bullet.”

As the elevator came to a halt, Adam’s mouth fell ajar. The suite revealed in front of him looked nothing short of palatial, all exquisite carpets and fabrics and dark mahogany features, like the wing of a grand casino. There were even some paintings on the walls that Adam felt one would see in an art gallery.

Darko helped him get Nigel over to the bed, then strode to the wardrobe, pulling out a bath robe and a stack of luxurious blankets. Adam noticed there were also several suits hanging up beside.

“I’m leaving now. Get him out of those wet clothes, and get him warm. Make him drink something sweet, but not too much. And when he wakes up, tell him I need to speak to him. Urgently.”

“W-why?” Adam was still taking in the room, not quite able to believe this was all part of the establishment Nigel owned.

“Tell him the buyer we were expecting has arrived. Early. And he is needed.”

“Buyer…?”

Seeing Adam, small and uncomprehending, perched on the oversized bed, Darko gave a small chuckle.

“For someone who says they’re… what was it… Nigel’s  _partner_ ” Darko put a certain relish on the word. “You don’t seem to know much about him, do you?”

The door closed, the click of the latch echoing in Darko’s wake. Starting to unbutton Nigel’s shirt, Adam looked at the man he loved in dismay.  _I’m… not sure_  Adam thought.  _Do I?_

____

Through amplified speakers, Darko’s low and brusque voice rings loudly against the soft rippling of the water. Surrendering to his lassitude body as every muscle gives in to the coldness, his view fades into shade of gray tones, murky, fading and hazy. His palpitating heart gradually slowing down, Adam and Darko’s conversation is merely reduced into muffled sounds echoing off from a distance away. The back of his head hitting the concrete with a heavy thump, he doesn’t even feel the radiating pain as his head rolls forward again, chin digging into his chest as he succumbs into a trance-like state. Aware, able to register what’s going on around him, but feeling sluggish and his corporeality feels like he’s beaten all over. 

There were only few people who he had shown the tip of his iceberg, a little bit of weakness when he had been injured. Having a high tolerance meant that he would maintain his impassive and rather blank facade. Behind that seemingly blunt behavior and unemotional demeanor, there laid a person who had craved genuine affection, apart from transient and short-living hedonistic behaviors that he often partook. Whores that clung to him, coveting his wealth, ardently desiring his sultry and charming looks. That characteristic charm that seemed to ooze out of those slender, yet muscular and toned body. Those fiery and intense eyes that sucks everyone inside those hazel orbs. Like a spiralling tornado that sweeps through, without making too much of an unnecessary movement. 

As much as he clutches onto the last strand of his consciousness, Darko had been the one and only ‘associate’ and complicity that he completely trusted. Behind his animosity laid his meticulous skills as a clubowner. Securing the heist as well as unsanctioned trades, he had ruled the underworld of Bucharest with something akin to a dictatorship. Not taking any lame flimsy effort, half-assed crap from lesser associates that worked for the dynamic duo who reigned the nightclub life, many lives had perished under their hands. 

Locks of drenched and dripping hair slathered across his pallid skin, the veins rising on the surface of his forehead as it begins to throb. More excess water dripping over his brows as he scowls minutely as his mussed up hair curtains his face, as if choreographed, his last squeeze on his consciousness falters as soon as he hears Darko’s oxfords click against the concrete. 

The trip towards the Mercedes is a grueling one, his legs limp as he loses his footing, the tip of the heavy boots dragging and tipping over the gravels. Even when he fights to stay awake as the wind sweeps and carries away the thin layer of body heat still emitting from his core. The alcohol coursing through his bloodstream doesn’t aid in maintaining his usual scorching heat inside him either, as vessels dilate on the surface of his veiny hands and side of his head. The contrast of the cool air and cold water beads still clinging onto his chest is lessened by the heated plush leather seats underneath, offering a sliver of warmth. The algid body prostrates as he fights with low blood pressure, but at least his bodily functions return as a bit of tremor rattles his clammy skin underneath the wet surface. 

At least the interior of the car had warmed him up gradually as his numbness of the muscles lessens, the movement more at an ease as he finally finds the footing, the bunched up jeans against his leather boots still holds onto water as each heavy step saps more of his energy. Still half-awake and half-sleep, he knows he’s inside the club, his grand establishment that towers over the nightlife of Bucharest. The onslaught of heavy smoke lingering inside the lobby, along with the strong fragrance of cheap perfumes almost overwhelming and drowning all the other scents, but he was used to it. The sound of stilettos and heels clicking, the hustle and bustle of crowds moving in and about. The adjoined bar in front of the back entrance. Nigel doesn’t need to open his heavy lids to make out the view. The view he had been living with his entire life. The exchange of drugs at the one corner, inebriated and drugged people, succumbing to their own choice of poison. Petty fights and brawls, drunken stupor sending people to retreat into their suits. Billiard players and cue wizards making wagers and game centers off to the side, adjacent to the spacious bar.

The night before, Nigel had been at the dock with his associates, securing the shipment coming from the Netherlands, a container full of coke and morphine. A contraband. His preferred mix of speedball as he had also relished the contrasting mix of stimulants and depressants. It was easy to succumb to the raw desires. yielding himself to the temptation of fleeting euphoria had been easier than facing his demons on his own. The buyers were going to supply the thriving club’s expansion, opening another grand establishment. 

Plucked out of the ongoing haziness as his less than deft fingers fumble to get the buttons off, he snatches a dry towel off from the nightstand by the lamp after failing to gauge the distance as his coordination takes a few tries to get it right and begins to wipe his face. Having registered Darko’s words as his eyes had been rolling under the closed eyelids, his hands move downward to undo the buckle on his belt, hearing it clank loudly underneath his trembling fingers. 

A low groan lifting his chest as he leans up against the mattress, he strains to pull himself upward, leaning against the headboard. “Am dracului nevoie pentru a face la întâlnire, da-mi treizeci de minute și voi fi al naibii de set.” Unbeknownst to him, Darko had already shut the door behind him as Nigel’s low mumbling breaks as his eyes open, slightly filmy and his view still foggy as if he had been wearing his helmet and the visor had been all crystallized with his exhales. “I just need to take a fucking warm bath and I need to be off to attend that fucking meeting.” 

Meeting Adam’s shocked gaze, his lips languidly tilt upward, drawing a minute arch as he springs upward with an unceremonious grunt. The view beginning to focus, he knows it is his preferred room to stay in whenever he’d crash with whores by his side, relishing both gustatory and copulatory pleasures for the most nights. “Why don’t you fucking order something, the meeting will take a while and you’re in no fucking shape either to go back to our house. Just say ‘ _Adu-mi o farfurie de nenorocit ciorba de fasole cu ciolan, o sticlă de whisky și bere la halbă.’”_


	10. Chapter 10

The second Nigel snapped his eyes open, Adam felt his heart do a tiny somersault, his head a lot dizzier when it finished. All Darko’s strange advice and stranger messages puddled into his stomach, then somehow bounced back up to his throat, making it impossible to tell Nigel all the things he had planned. The first had been an apology. The second, a very thorough lecture on solids, liquids and gases, and the effects of water density on permeable fabrics.

What came out in fact sounded closer to a tangled sob, and Nigel had no sooner gained the smallest amount of leverage against the headboard before Adam had thrown his arms around his chest, pinning his back to it.

“I’m going to run you a bath” he babbled, aware that Nigel may not exactly feel like having the air squeezed out of him after barely having it pumped back in.

Almost tripping on the heavy persian rug, Adam took a wrong turn, first opening the door to some kind of small-scale boardroom, next, an extremely modern kitchenette.  _Jeepers_ , he thought.  _I wouldn’t like to be searching for the toilet in the middle of the night._ Hitting the bathroom on his third try, Adam was sure he’d seen smaller swimming pools than the spabath before him, a deep, triangular thing of cream marble and sharp silver. There was an intercom device in this room too. Replaying Nigel’s suggested cuisine in his mind, he found he could recall the Romanian inflections perfectly, though together they made about as much sense as everything else that had happened since they arrived.

“ _În sala de mese, cum poate te putem ajuta în această seară?_  …In-room dining, how may we help you this evening?”

At the light, almost musical tone, Adam exhaled, relieved it wasn’t somehow Darko who picked up again. He appreciated the multilingual greeting too, and concluded the establishment must see enough foreigners to warrant it.

Carefully, Adam repeated the instructions, then turned both taps on the spa. Feeling the steam rise over his face, he realised he felt cold from the inside out, the bitter taste of unfiltered water still clammy on his tongue. He was exhausted too, the unfamiliarity of his surroundings slowly nipping at his sense of ease. But Nigel was safe. He wasn’t going to panic. He had nearly touched the bottom of the deepest river in Bucharest, for goodness sake. He wasn’t going to let a couple of changes to his surroundings suck him under now. Every time he thought of the routine he would rather be following, he just had to replace the image with the one of Nigel opening his eyes.

Dipping a hand into the bubbles to check the temperature, Adam thought he heard a murmur over the sound of running water, not entirely sure it wasn’t his ears still ringing from the dive. Wandering back toward the main suite, he peeked round the wall to see Darko, his hand firmly clapped on Nigel’s shoulder. Taken aback, Adam found his legs had suddenly stopped working, his mouth all dry. Hadn’t Darko said he was leaving? Did he come back? Did he _lie?_

“Can’t say I was fucking delighted, but we’ve both pulled up from worse” Darko’s voice sounded different to when he was spoken to Adam. A lot rougher, unguarded somehow.

Adam tried to understand the grip on Nigel’s shoulder. It wasn’t aggressive, nor was it overly affectionate. It just seemed… pleased. And Darko didn’t seem like a man who often looked pleased.

With Nigel’s back to him, Adam couldn’t catch what was said in response, but it made Darko laugh. As the conversation slipped between Romanian and English, Adam couldn’t stop worrying that the bath had overfilled. Leaning up against the wall, he wished he could stop shaking long enough to go check. The wishing wasn’t working.

_“You know what it’s like in the Netherlands…”_

_“That’ll be their fault, if it goes that way…”_

_“Goddamn game-changer, this one…”_

Darko’s voice was a lot louder than Nigel’s, his hand gestures more expressive with each boiling phrase. When Adam finally heard the snap of Darko’s shoes turning heel, he finally remembered to breathe.

“Half an hour Nigel, you’re fucking sure?”

Adam heard a murmur of a response, low and calm.

“Alright. But not a second earlier. We’ll be on Level 2.”

As Adam saw Darko close the door behind him, for a second, he could have sworn the man looked him straight in the eye.

_____

Once his less than fierce hazel orbs open, the green flecks taking in the bleary surroundings of particularly luxurious and private suite he frequents. Ashen locks draping his angular cheekbones as he registers the veiled darkness before taking in the soft fluorescent lighting of the room. His slight pallid complexion shoot up to gaze at Adam almost lurch forward against his chest, a soft grunt contracting his chest and his shoulder slouches. Shooting up a confused gaze, all he wants to do is to lapse into a lassitude of relaxation, a cigarette-fueled one as which time, hurry and going to any of the client meetings does not exist. Although this particular one is a huge one which could be a crucial element. Him playing the most crucial role as the channel of communication. 

“Why don’t you fucking do that while I catch the goddamn breath.” Clumsily fumbling as his back sinks back into the headboard, his hips shift as his aching muscle screams, the chilled coldness still clinging onto his skin as his extremities emit a tingling sensation as the core of his body begins to circulate blood towards his hands and feet. His silvery chest fluff still holding the beads of coldness, his eyes transverse towards the robe draped over the other side of the headboard. The convulsive quivering halting as his heavy eyelids twitch for the last time, a lazy grin pulls the corner of his lips cheek to cheek. His slowed heartrate gradually increasing as the strong muscle tries its best to supply blood towards his limbs, it begins to beat more rapidly than usual and he takes a deep inhale, trying to regulate his breathing. As nonchalant and blank his expression is, this is a sink or swim situation. Nothing in between, either this blows if he fucks it up or it launches a new franchise. The dynamic duo’s new establishment, a venue to attract more variety of crowds. 

Taking another fluttering and long breath, he takes out a small bottle of whiskey from the small fridge underneath the nightstand. Taking the familiar scent of vanilla, caramel and toffee notes, about two fingers of whiskey bourbon makes down his throat, the burn enough to rouse him up for a bit and his tension melting away. He never got nervous even when he’s suddenly called on to meet with particularly finicky and rich clients who were in for all or nothing. As headstrong as he had been, he rather enjoyed the period of insecure moments before the meetings. There were too many variable elements. His posture, demeanor, the words he carefully chose. Although he was uneducated, his words of choice had been rather eloquent and articulate, poetic even. Direct and blunt most of the times, but he knew how to pull the strings and get them to keep the conversational ball rolling. 

Once he straightens himself out, the first thing he makes out is Adam’s back turned towards him and the swirling steam rising off from the inviting tub. Donning the robe and feeling that his muscles are still aching from the prolonged exposure to the chilled water and the elements, he tightens the sash around his slender waist. As soon as the front door opens, Darko’s shoulder bumps against the door and his head cocks, beckoning with his chin as a hand pats down the mattress beside him. “Adu-mi o țigară nenorocit.” As soon as Darko chuckles lowly and hands him a cigarette, Nigel immediately lights it with a match from the matchbook and scrapes it into the tobacco Darko is holding. Thick smoke rising up as Nigel takes a long puff, the surge of nicotine further adding up to his idea of relaxation. 

Legs crossed, he shoots an amused gaze up to Darko. “Mult mai mult mai rău , am nenorocit sigur că vă amintiți -am salvat fundul nenorocit.” Surely his ‘associate’ remembers the time when Nigel saved his ass as well. Much worse than suffering from mild hypothermia. 

_“I surely do remember. Fucking fun times. At least that fucking scar is healed now.”  
_

_“Speaking about the fucking meeting, with their fucking business making a leap, it’s their fucking loss if the fucking dutch don’t take our offer. 2,000,000 Leu.”  
_

_“You know what’s like in Netherlands, with the legalized prostitution and all, it’ll be easy to seal the fucking deal.”_

Nigel’s voice is much lower and a bit coarse, his usual accented and non enunciated voice ringing off against Darko’s much louder one. 

Stretching his stiff neck and straightening his posture as he gets up, Nigel taps the ash against the empty whiskey bottle and bumps his shoulder against the other. “Fucking half an hour. Do get the fucking convo started. I’ll be a fucking second late.” 

Watching the door close beside him as he puts the stub out, watching the butt filter crush against his fingertips. Walking past Adam as if nothing had happened, his curved and cruel lips upturned into an all-knowing smirk. “I’m sure you heard him, half a fucking hour.” The robe sliding off his broad shoulders, he tilts his head and steps into the overflowing tub with his wet tight black boxers still on, watching the water brim over and flowing against the marbled surface. 


	11. Chapter 11

Adam watched Nigel disappear into the bathroom. He knew something was different. He just had no idea how to start figuring out what that was. He shivered as Nigel stepped into the water, a sheet of water cascading over the edge and sucking down to the drain at the centre of the tiled floor. It made a low gurgling noise, and for a moment, all Adam could see was Nigel’s limp body, floating just below the surface. He could feel his breath quickening, and tried to hold it, an attempt to quell his racing pulse. He could see Nigel slowly tipping his head back, his salt-stained hair spinning into the frothy bathwater. And it was too much.

“I…I’ll join you.”

In truth, Adam had never felt less like re-submerging himself in water in his life, but the alternative was staring from the doorway, and he concluded that was hardly much use. And… he didn’t really like the idea of leaving Nigel alone.

Peeling back his sticky shirt and trousers, Adam was down to his sky-blue briefs before Nigel had a chance to respond, a little wobbly as he stepped a foot into the tub. Gritting his teeth, the water was a lot hotter than he would have liked, but it didn’t seem to concern Nigel, and so…

Adam sat down all at once, a wave of bubbles flooding from the brim in all directions. He grinned rather nervously, but Nigel didn’t seem to be paying attention. Maybe he was still slightly bothered about almost dying. It was more than a minor inconvenience, after all. Or maybe it was the remaining shock- Darko had said untreated shock could be as dangerous as gunfire. Maybe Nigel wasn’t as okay as he was letting on.

_Or maybe_ , a smaller voice in his head whispered.  _It’s this place. This business. These people._  Darko had been right. He had only really ever known the Nigel who kissed him when he got home. The Nigel who sometimes cooked and messed it up, though to Adam they were still his favourite dishes in the world. The Nigel who took him on adventures, and comforted him when things went wrong. The Nigel who had saved him. But here, Nigel’s whole attention seemed to be fixed toward a different end, one just beyond his reach.  _You didn’t really save him back._

Reaching for the  complementary shampoo, Adam barely had the tiny bottle in his palm before a tone sounded at the door. Room service. Flustered, Adam lurched to his feet with as little ceremony as he had sat down. Everything felt out of order, and he wondered why he hadn’t thought to ask when the tray would arrive.

“Here… let me” he mumbled, dripping water across the carpet as he trailed out of the bathroom. The main area of the suite had retained the cloying scent of cigar ash from Darko’s visit, licked with something sweeter too, all butter and burnt sugar. Adam noticed the empty bourbon bottle on the nightstand.  _That wasn’t there before._

He pulled back the heavy door, blinking at the staff member whilst wearing nothing more than his clinging briefs. A few seconds late, he remembered the appropriate etiquette for responding to the waiter’s greeting and thanking him for the delivery. From the bathroom, he could hear Nigel moving around. Adam glanced at the clock. 10:08pm. Had half an hour really passed that quickly?

As Adam handed the waiter a tip, he noticed two young girls loitering in the hall. They gave a small wave on catching his eye, and Adam realised his first impression had been incorrect- they would at least be in their mid-twenties. Like him, they were also wearing very little, and Adam wondered if they had perhaps been interrupted from a bath too. The taller of the two pointed to the cocktail in her hand, miming taking a sip, and beckoning Adam to come join them.

“I’d better not” Adam apologised “the last drink I had didn’t end too well.” Not wanting to seem impolite, he made an anxious attempt at a smile before closing the door. The room felt a lot smaller when he turned back. Nigel was waiting. 

Down on Level 2… he knew Darko was waiting too.

____

As the steaming warm water begins to envelope his chilled skin, the slight goosebumps still present on his unusually pale and color-drained skin begins to dissipate and disappear as his dewy and mesmerized gaze tilts back towards the ceiling. The moonlight streaming down from the large window dances across and shines Nigel’s angular features and the tiled wall behind him as his salt and pepper macchiato hair fans around the side of his face in a crumpled halo. He cannot help, but to emit a relieved sigh as his smoky and husky voice rattles deep from his chest. “Why the fuck not.” Even before he responds, Adam is already inside the water. He does not look up, immersed in his thoughts and the lassitude as his body temperature gradually increases.

His heavy lids shutting, the veins across the side of his forehead and neck begins to throb as the his heightened senses are at work. The water rippling under as his lifeless limb sways under the current and the jet of strong water pumping beneath his legs and spine continuously moves and massages his aching muscles. As stress hormones are surging through his body, his mind recalls and replays the worst possible thing that could have happened to him.

As his leather and heavy fabric sucked and retained more water, the faltering strength as he could automatically gasp the water more inside his lung, the panic would have caused a psychological continuance of hyperventilation as body’s natural response was at large. When his vision was fading, he could feel that the last strong surge of water through his larynx would surely send him over to the other side as his body fought hard for survival. The short duration of him fainting and the peripherals cooling in order to supply more blood to his vital central organs all the telltale sign of him narrowingly escaping what seemed like a sealed fate.

As his palpitating heartbeat slows down to his regular, strong and slow rhythm, a mental relaxation occurs inside of him as his brain begins to churn like a solid frozen ice cream softening up, seeing the steam rising off from the water almost swarming around him. With a heavy and long-drawn sigh, his head tilts downward to gaze at Adam with somewhat pragmatic and passive gaze, as the decreased output of those stress hormones seem to pull him down to a completely different mindset and mood. Perhaps it is the alcohol from the bourbon he just manage to down in a one single tip of his chin. The warmth of the water and the steam had been a marvelous thing.

The sense of time seems to distort as a blink of an eye seems to take off much time, like tick-tocking of the time bomb. All the sensations outside of the bathroom seem to draw out, or masked off from his conscience as he stands, beads of water rolling off from his skin now slowly retaining color. His body still aching as his heart beats more to supply blood to his extremities, the erratic beating of his heart confirms that something is indeed wrong with his body. Even if Adam hadn’t offered himself to answer the room service like he did in such unceremonious manner, if it had been his usual self, he would’ve smirked and bantered and teased.  _“Get your fucking head straight and walk like a goddamn man, not a fucking kid that’s out of whack. Don’t tell me you’re fucking trashed with one shot of fucking fățată coursing through your system.”_ That would’ve been his exact words as he feels his lips stretch from cheek to cheek in his usual sultry grin. 

Getting out of the water with the robe draped over his shoulder, he feels like someone had beat the shit out of him while he feels ravenous, but the fragrant aroma of bean and pork soup, one of his staple comfort soup he always sought after whenever he had been feeling under the weather or such occasions like this when he didn’t feel like himself, but to crash. Each faltering step taking more effort than the one before it, Water still rolling off his almost naked figure, the clinging moisture still dripping heavily as he marks his path behind him. Sash tightened around his waist, an arm props him up as his legs begin to give up. “Ah, Andreea and Loana, ce surpriză plăcută nenorocit să te văd în seara asta . M-am gândit că a fost ziua ta liberă, sau nu-i așa?” His filmy hazel orbs are blanker than usual, the hard edge softening up more and more with each blank. 

His eyes dart over the displayed gustatory pleasures before his heavy eyelids blink slowly, perhaps that bourbon had been the wrong choice of selection or accepting Darko’s offer and setting the thirty-minute countdown until the crucial meeting. His head still spinning, he takes a long inhale and leans against the doorframe, propping himself up.   



	12. Chapter 12

Adam hadn’t taken more than a step backward before the two heads peeked round the doorframe, eyes widening as they took in the breadth of the suite. The brunette who had beckoned to him walked in first, smiling at Nigel’s greeting. Her companion followed only a moment behind. In the warmer light of the bedroom, Adam could see both their swimsuits were made from a silvery glitter-fabric, which he thought looked very much like interstellar dust.

“ _Nigel! Ești unul să vorbim, ne-am gândit că ar fi trebuit să fie la o dată seara asta!”_

The exchange sounded friendly enough, and though Adam couldn’t catch more than the word “date”, he did his very best to laugh along with everybody else.

“You are very sweet” the second girl said to him, her short, purple hair concealing much of her face. Her accent was no lighter than Darko’s, kinder somehow. “I am Loana. This is Andreea. We are dancers here.”

“But tonight, we are just drinkers here” Andreea added, winking over the cocktail tipped between her fingers.

“My name is Adam Raki, pleased to meet you.”

Though he hadn’t been expecting company, nor was he dressed for it, Adam found he didn’t feel too uneasy with the surprise. They weren’t looking at him oddly, and Loana even walked to the bathroom to fetch him a dry towel. Appreciative of the gesture, Adam couldn’t help acknowledge he wasn’t being the most gracious host, but the dancers seemed far more comfortable in the suite than he did right now.

“This is your first visit?” Andreea perched herself at the edge of one of the armchairs, her fingers grazing curiously over the intricate fabric.

“Yes.” Slowly, Adam moved behind Nigel, his slender hands finding the familiar spread of Nigel’s shoulders. He wanted to find some way of expressing that he was pleased to finally visit Nigel’s place of work, however scary and unfamiliar. “It’s… very busy. And very… luminescent.”

Loana creased her eyebrows, glancing up at the ceiling light as if expecting something to happen. Andreea made a quick translation, and they both gave Adam an affectionate nod.

“Thank you. It is a wonderful place to work. We are very lucky to be here.”

Winding his hands softly into the knots below Nigel’s neck, Adam was happy to have something to focus on besides his own intrusive thoughts. As Nigel sipped at the soup, Adam recognised the scent of pork and beans, which Nigel always seemed to order when he wasn’t well. Allowing his eyes to close for just a second, Adam could almost imagine they were at home.

When he opened them, Andreea was holding one of the suits he had seen hanging in the wardrobe, the one next to the blankets. She made a gentle movement toward Nigel, and then to the clock on the wall.

“ _Darko a spus acest lucru ar putea fi dimensiunea_ ”

Loana had meanwhile found the minibar fridge at the bedside, pouring four shots of Țuică from the bottles she found within. She handed Adam the first. “For your welcoming to Krystal Glam- s _ănătate_ ”

While Nigel busied himself with getting dressed, Adam finished the rest of the soup, happy to wash down whatever else he had just swallowed.

“If you would like” Andreea started. “We could show you the rest of the club whilst Nigel is…” she waved a hand, frowning for the words “…having meeting.”

Fidgeting his hands with the towel in his lap, Adam watched the shirt buttons slowly close over Nigel’s chest, his expression shadowed as he donned the tailored jacket to boot. Nigel looked a lot different, without the boots and leather. A lot more… like Darko.

Suddenly, Adam found the idea of staying in the room alone a good deal less appealing.

“Okay. Yes.” He paused to remind himself to breathe. “I would like that.”

____

Shaking away the whirling feeling inside his head, Nigel forces out a lopsided smile towards the girls. Like a puppet attached to the lines of the puppeteer’s hold, his muscles don’t seem like they belong to him. His full and pinkish lips having lost color as the corner of his lips twitch.  _“Ei bine, aceasta a fost una, până când am aproape înecat în râul tulbure.”_  His fingers gliding against Loana’s shoulder as she passes by him to enter the bathroom, their garish swimsuit with the high stilettos, also equally glimmering under the fluorescent light dances across his bleary green specks of his caramel orbs. Through the long, unbalanced bangs of the purple hair, he scents the girl’s perfume, notes of strong flowery scent assaulting his nostrils. Registering that all of his senses have been heightened somehow, the overwhelming contrast of scents make him feel queasy, although he feels ravenously starving. 

Soon, Loana returns with two large towels and hands him one and the other to Adam. “Ștergeți excesul de apă, Darko deja în așteptare pentru tine.” The girl whispers as Nigel parts from the doorframe to stand to wipe off the excess dripping water from his long ashen locks. Feeling giddy with each tilt of his head, behind the towel, his muffled groans slip out and his expression frowns. He would have to make the meeting quick and excuse himself as soon as he secures the deal from the finicky Dutch clients.  

He wasn’t a type of a person to throw up even the overwhelming urge of nausea surged inside his stomach. The strenuous movements before having taken all of his energy, the pork and beans soup feels easy against his throat and sits well inside his stomach. Substantial enough without being too greasy nor spicy. Although he would’ve savored much more fatty dish that would require him to chew more thoroughly, the small diced pork pieces, tender against his palate and white beans seems the most acceptable. His body responses as if he’s laying on the mattress. He’d endure just half an hour more and crash on the bed to rest. At least Adam’s fingers against his tense and atrophied muscle feels relaxing and soothing. 

Taking his time to not upset his stomach, he savors the fragrant aroma of the broth, the steam rising off against his pallid skin as it begins to warm him up. The tomato-based soup with lots of herbs and pepper, just like how he likes it. He would’ve liked more hot sauce splattered inside the liquid, but he can’t complain. Their bar had the best comfort bar-food, along with their secret recipe stolen from one of the family-operated business in the opposite side of the city. Of course, they went out of business as Darko had taken care of the aftereffects of the whole ordeal. The owner dead, the building having been demolished, their business thriving. 

Letting his staff members and Adam break the ice, Nigel saunters inside the walk-in closet just off by the bathroom to change into dry clothes. Checking his less than perfect complexion in front of full-length mirror, his ghastly pale body and looking thinner and slender than usual. Like his haircolor, his face is even ashy, a faint dark circle adorning his still intense hazel orbs. Looking like a starved Siberian white-tiger, he dons the pressed black trousers and drapes the black shirt over his broad shoulders. In his shiny oxfords and clad in all-black with his still damp hair raked off his forehead, his eyes glint and becomes more fierce, his professional demeanor taking over his aura. 

“ _Distrează-te arătându-i în jurul valorii de. Nu naibii să-l facă tot amețit._ ” Letting the girls know his feigned uninterest, he flashes an awkward smile before exiting his preferred suite. Knowing Adam’s uncomfortableness around unfamiliar people, he merely hopes that Adam doesn’t go into one of those clandestine rooms where only Darko and he has access to by mistake. His killing room, so to speak. Where no one had escaped their atrociousness. 

Heading towards Level 2, where the spacious bar extended to and had all the private rooms to meet all the high-profile clients. Darko is already inside the soundproof room with two of the clients, already briefing the necessary information. How much coke involved, the quality of the narcotics, etc. Stepping into the room with his typical swagger, the confidence exudes from him, albeit feeling in trance-like state. “So I believe you’ve already been presented with the amount. A half-container full of pure cocaine straight from Columbia for  _2,000,000 Leu._ I’d say you fucking have nothing to lose in terms of both the amount and quality. I assure you, if you already have taken the fucking sample, then I cannot lower the amount…  _Scuzați-mă, la naiba_.”  Even before he makes around the marbled table to sit cross-legged to complete his grand entrance, his vision fades to oblivion as his back presses against the glass paned walls, collapsing backward as vertiginous feeling takes over. Even the vodka from the half-empty bottle makes his brain reel. 


	13. Chapter 13

Like all the vilest criminals in Bucharest, there was one thing Darko knew how to do very, very well. And that was be nice. He was nice when the Dutch men arrived, all handshakes and smiles and expensive cigars. He was nice when the clock ticked past the hour, laughing about the various assholes he’d run into the ground to fill time. And he was nice when Nigel arrived, dressed like a dream and looking like the devil’s breakfast, talking and swaggering and sliding and slipping… and falling. On the ground. And not getting up.

And then Darko wasn’t nice.

“ _Nenorocit dracu dracu rahat!_ ” his whole face seizing to something murderous, Darko was only grateful his guests were not fluent in Romanian, though the meaning was likely clear enough. Kneeling over Nigel’s body, he grabbed him roughly by the collar. “Get the fuck up, you asshole!” He hissed. “Motherfucking asshole! Now is not the time to take a fucking dirt nap!”

When Nigel didn’t respond, Darko took a moment to collect himself, standing and smoothing his jacket with both hands. The Dutch men hadn’t bothered to get to their feet at all, looking more amused than anything else. In truth, Darko couldn’t have been more concerned if he tried. There weren’t many people a man like him could say they’d never betray. Nigel was somebody he would let walk behind him without looking back, the only man he needed when shit hit the fan. And, with god as his witness, they’d both had enough shit and enough fans for several lifetimes.

So, Darko wasn’t surprised to feel almost as angry as he’d ever been. He should have damn well known Nigel wouldn’t be up for the meeting. He only had himself to blame. And for Darko, that was not a good feeling. Throwing back a laugh, he slammed a hand on the table.

“See? What did he tell you, fucking quality shit. One line worth ten of what you’re pushing.” Out of sight, Darko gave Nigel’s ankle a kick, none too gently. “Fucking bullets don’t take this asshole under, but a hit of our Colombian and he’s shot down the door to heaven.”

Some degree of curiosity now crossing both the buyer’s faces, they relented to peering over the wide marble table, looking at Nigel’s stone cold form with new interest.

“… _Indeed_.”

“Quick on the ignition, minimal backspin” Darko continued, saliva pooling under his tongue as he felt his grip tighten. “An easy converter. Keeps you up, keeps you drinking, keeps you buying.” He gave a conspiratorial smile, the throb of the nightclub downstairs only just audible in the tense silence. He had ordered all the sound systems turned up for that explicit purpose.

“You’ll sell out within the week. We both already know that. But Nigel and I didn’t ask you here for a fucking parcel exchange. And you know that too. We’re expanding. Now’s a good time to make friends.”

The Dutch men had quieted, their expressions hardening toward a decision. And whatever they really came for. As they muttered to each other in what Darko recognised as German, he took the opportunity to bend down to Nigel again.

“ _You’re going to miss my closer if you don’t wake up_ ” he whispered. “ _A fucking good one too_.”

His pulse twitchy with adrenaline, Darko suddenly realised just how much he didn’t want that to happen. Impulse control had never been one of his defining traits, though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t working on it. Just… not right now.

In a single, sharp motion, Darko slapped Nigel right across the face. From the stinging in his palm, he knew he hadn’t done much to curb the impact. And, from the look Nigel gave as his eyes twitched open… it was clear Nigel hardly thought so either.

Smirking, Darko gave him a brisk squeeze on the arm. “Now, don’t you dare vomit on my fucking suit.”

As if they had planned the whole thing all along, Darko sauntered across the room to pour four glasses of apricot pálinka, his personal favourite for toasting a new partnership. From the small window panel next to the private bar, he could see two of his best girls weaving through the crowd of patrons, pulling along some poor unsuspecting young man. As they neared the main level, Darko caught a better glimpse of the man’s face, and immediately found himself suppressing a vicious grin.  _Not just any young man._

Turning back to Nigel and their clients, Darko could see a deal hung in the balance. They just had to reach out and grab it. With his very nicest of nice gestures, Darko set the shots down on the table. It was turning out to be a very enjoyable night after all.

____

The dynamic duo had their strengths and weaknesses. Nigel fucking abhorred the sizing up and sugarcoating part. He was all direct, nothing sort of labyrinthine remarks and from his business habits, he always had a good perception. Always sensible enough to get the point across without being so sweet about it. Blunt and somewhat brusque without immediately coming off that way. His charm and sultry demeanor both men and women had their heads to turn around. Irresistible and all bad-boy vibe exuding from his swagger and narcissistic and charismatic. With an intense and fierce set of eyes even when he hadn’t felt so well, not well enough to make it to the meeting. From the looks of it, Darko had set the tone of the meeting well, all Nigel had to do was to maintain his composure and do the concluding talk. 

As his knees buckle and his consciousness slips into an oblivion like he had been on the verge of drowning, the hard edges of the table and strictly professional setting blurs into nothing as the world spins. If the pitch-black river had been swarming and whirling with gold and orange flecks of rippling glimmers dancing across the surface and the vast sky beyond his reach, the club’s sharp and cold interior makes him to feel like he’s succumbing to freezing. Like a rag doll needing of a puppeteer, his still damp salt and pepper blonde hair curtains his sharp angular features and the back of his head bangs harshly against the screened surface, From outside, no one would know what was going on inside the private room. Instead of the slow fading, this one had been all cut to the black, like a metal shutter shutting down to not let in even one sliver of light into his hazel pupils. 

Even with the forceful treatment, Nigel’s closed eyes remains shut, the color from his face faded long ago, a slight frown upon his heated forehead as the surge of heatwave courses through his head. Deep from the back of his eyes, where the dilated pupils roll back, his black-clad frame limply sways under Darko’s hold. The only sign of life is Nigel’s adam’s apple, which begins to slightly bob against the tight collar around his neck.   

The equally harsh kick to his ankle, which would surely lividly bruise his anklebone, only sends his lifeless limb to slack. Knees unbent as he merely looks like a stinking drunk who had been inebriated on both drugs and alcohol. Looking more worn and wan as ever, Nigel is sure he hears some kind of familiar voice coming far from the distance, a mere peal of far-off whisper. The resounding of Darko’s whisper and the smell of cigar and his cologne. Like a roll of thunder reverberating and taking over the night sky, the thick and blinding root of the tree which stands tall. The hard slap across his left cheek feels more like the roar of the cannon reverberating over the battlefield. Like he had been pulling the tug of war with his fleeting consciousness, he is quickly plucked out of his unconsciousness as his sharp eyes immediately open, a hand propping himself as he shoots back a look of a predator. Annoyed and shocked. 

“De ce dracu ’ ai făcut asta pentru, nenorocit bucată de rahat!” Shooting Darko a malicious look as his penetrating and glinting hazel unwavers against his crime partner, he doesn’t even rub his cheek, although he feels the flesh swell up as he feels the resonating heat from the impact. “Have you ever seen me fucking vomit the goddamn food and liquor out,  _doar lasă-mă dracului în pace, dacă trec de la nimic vreodată._ ” His head still swimming as the Dutch men’s face becomes six, then focuses back into two, a hand combs through his veiled ash blonde lock as he gets up. The oxfords clicking as he brushes his palms off. 

Still a bit cold, out of himself, but managing through although the onslaught of breaking fever is upon him as a slight shiver and dizziness continues to cling to his body.  _“Un noroc dracului la un parteneriat de mare._  Why don’t we toast for a great partnership. All you have to do is sign the contract, for a year, we get you the best fucking stuff there is from the fucking drug cartels we have spread out all over Columbia and South America.” After all, Darko had looked over the illegal trade networks and he had been giving aid to drug cartels by supplying them with firearms. Effectively controlling the price of pure cocaine that way to their favor. No one had done it better in Romania then these two. 

Watching the thick fruit brandy pour into each of the shot glasses, it’s Nigel who lifts the glass first, emptying the drink as his full lips grope the brim of the shot glass. The burn of the alcohol especially intensified, at least his stomach cooperates as he doesn’t feel a hint of churning sensation or uneasiness in his core, but knows his body is still fighting to keep his body warm as a slight tremble carries through his body. Plucking out his cigarette from the back pocket, knowing that he always kept a spare pack just in case he desperately craves it, he is quick to take a needy puff as soon as the lighter flicks inside his hand. 


	14. Chapter 14

With Andreea holding his left hand and Loana the right, Adam felt the squeeze of the corridor all around him, strangers bumping into him from all sides. Everything was red and pink and orange, the occasional stutter of strobe lighting mixing to a slushie of smoke and noise. There was so much noise. At first, Andreea had tried to yell into his ear, explaining the different platforms, bars and private rooms in the club, some far more exclusive than others. But as they neared the main level, it seemed to Adam that the sound speakers had been amplified almost beyond their capacity, the thumping base travelling right to his stomach. And then they had to make do with pointing. Adam felt very ill. He smiled even harder.

“ _This is the place we dance_ ” Loana mouthed, gesturing toward a long runway that split the middle of the space. She mimed a swishing, snaking motion with her body to illustrate the concept. Adam thought it looked very balanced and well-coordinated. From the number of stares the small gesture had attracted, Adam assumed the rest of the clientele must have thought so too. “ _Here, let’s let you up front._ ”

Trying to swallow the lump in his throat, Adam gave a shaky nod. As they passed a row of glittering bead curtains, two security personnel in matching attire stationed outside, Adam stopped still. At the other side of the window panel, he could see four men, one raising a glass, the other three quickly following. The flashing lights meant he only caught every half-second of their movement, so his chest near contracted when the next burst revealed Nigel, first to finish the shot. Another blink and he saw Darko, a gold leaf of paper in one hand, a fountain pen in the other. With a huge smile, Darko slid the document across the table, following with a vigorous handshake.

“Adam? Are you all right?” Loana was tugging at the shirt he had found back in the suite, slightly too big for him like all the rest.

“Yes” Adam croaked. It wasn’t himself that Adam was worried about. As he watched Nigel speaking, he couldn’t help notice his face appeared swollen and flushed, his neck and forehead drenched in sweat.

“I’m going to fetch you some water” Andreea placed her hand gently at his shoulder. Though he meant nothing by it, even the light touch sent a prickle of apprehension over his skin, and Adam hunched himself against the wall, unable to make eye contact. Crossing his arms over his chest, he tried to pretend he was anywhere else, but the throbbing music made it impossible. He was breathing too quickly, everything else moving too slowly.

“Adam, Adam, come in here.” The voice sounded very far away. It was Loana’s voice. It sounded calm, helpful. Unable to move his legs, he forced his head to turn toward her, his vision blurred as he saw her standing near an open door. It was a door he hadn’t noticed before, one they certainly hadn’t pointed out to him earlier. Loana was reaching her hand to him. Wild and desperate, Adam flung his arm toward her, the action only increasing his vertigo. Catching his trembling hand, Loana pulled him in and shut the door. And suddenly, all the chaos was gone.

Gasping for breath, Adam couldn’t believe how quiet the room was compared to outside. Quiet, cold, and very large. All he could hear was his own sniffling, each lungful of air shuddering through his chest. Andreea was already inside, holding the glass of water carefully to his mouth, not letting go.

“You’re okay, you’re okay” she was saying, low and soothing. “How much did you take?”

Wiping his nose on his sleeve, Adam was still trying to understand where he actually was. The room looked a lot different from the rest of the club- no splashy colours or mirror balls. It looked very bare, nothing but a few steel chairs and locked cabinets. And no windows.

“Take…? Take from where?”

Andreea gave him a reassuring smile. “Nigel gave you something to have a fun time? For your first visit?”

Feeling his heart rate slowing, Adam tried very hard to recall anything Nigel might have given him that would be relevant to the conversation. But he came up with nothing.

Speaking softly in Romanian, Loana raised a hand to mime snorting something from the back of it. “You did this, yes? It is alright, we have seen it many times.”

“You don’t have to worry” Andreea added. “This is Nigel and Darko’s club. The  _poliţişti_  do not come.”

Blinking at the strange surroundings, Adam appreciated their comforting words. Since his unpleasant shake-up at the day-care centre back in New York, Adam couldn’t help feel nervous around police. He realised Nigel must have passed on this information, which was fair enough, it was no secret.

“Thank you” Adam mumbled “I’m sorry. I feel much better now. Where are we?”

At this, Andreea and Loana shared a look he didn’t quite understand.

“Somewhere… it would be better not to be.” Loana hesitated, eyebrows creasing as she eyed the way they had entered. “We’ll take you out the back, better for less people seeing. Here…” she walked across the room, opening the door on the opposite side. “…follow me.”

____

As soon as Darko lays out the gold-leaf paper with the fountain pen across the marbled table, Nigel takes another shot of the fruity brandy, hoping the burn would rouse him enough for his eyes to remain focused and affirmative enough. Watching one of the Dutch men grab the pen to sign the autograph in elegant cursive with hazy set of hazel, he feels the burn intensified down his throat as more heat resonates from the back of his eyeballs. That familiar prickling pain he’d always get when he would have the fever break. He wasn’t the one to get down with something easily, but when it did, it came like a growing wildfire. All consuming. Soon, he’s sure he would pass out from the searing fever ripping through his body. The tremor in his body growing and not becoming discreet, he knows it’s time for him to retreat. 

The swollen cheek beginning to emit a dull throbbing pain and his ankle less than comfortable, Nigel decides to reciprocate while the Dutch men’s attentions are diverted onto the contract. Of course, there was loopholes in the contract and disposing those two men would be as easy as pie. His clandestine room which Darko and himself only knew about, once the funds transfer to their account, they’re as good as perished inside their club. Where no lives escaped under their viciousness. Nigel was more than well aware that Darko had been the one to be more impatient, prone to anger and excessively emotional when he tried to maintain his poker-face. Nigel had been surprisingly professional and direct, a gape between his personal life and from his professional settings. Behind the nonchalant and bad-boy vibe with his handsome and angular features that encharmed other people, drawing them like magnets, they had no idea what he had been capable of doing. Especially during rare occasions when he didn’t carry a handgun behind his waistband.

“Gentleman, do make yourselves comfortable and drink whatever you want, it’s on the house.” Nigel’s honeyed voice echoes off from the small rectangular room as he reciprocates Darko’s beating down on him earlier. A sure and forceful kick, masked by his orotund voice. “I do apologize in advance, as you have fucking registered, I don’t feel rather well. Darko here will lead you to your room and serve you to your needs.” Watching Darko’s less than pained expression as, Nigel’s lips grin to ear to ear, flashing a smirk towards the Dutch men. Turning his head again as it continues to ring, his husky voice breaks a small hiss as the shot glass clanks against the table. “ _A lua pe ei la suita scumpe și le servi bine pana sunt gata să vorbesc cu tine despre schema următoare_.” Their last supper - or drink, more likely - will happen before he regains his strength. Already having done his research about the two men, self-made brothers in fact, orphans, they could be somewhat like Nigel in their native country, a man known as ‘Domnul de droguri din București,’ The drug lord of Bucharest. The name ‘Nigel,’ as it meant ‘champion,’ in Scandinavian countries, he didn’t take anything lower than the best. Although Darko had his own weaknesses, his presence made up for it.

As heated asphalt under the scorching hot day of Bucharest summer, his unwavering and bleary view begins to swarm into blurred vivid colors. Small ants moving in and out about under the view. The gaudy and raunchy dressed girls, the hustle and bustle to catch innocent and naive men to pick on. As midnight neared, the oncoming crowd increased as the corridor began to crowd up. Oh fucking shit. Someone exactly like Adam. Concentrating with every nerve and cell on his body before his penetrating hazel hues search down, he makes out an unmistakable and noticeable short and purple hair. Loana’s. And right next to is dark mocha curls, Adam’s flustered face almost zooms in on him like a focal lense of the camera. Feeling the tremor intensifying as well as the contrasting feeling of burning up on his forehead, he feels a fat bead of sweat roll against his taut jugular, along his pin-up girl tattoo. “Good night, gentlemen. _Voi avea cuvintele naibii mai târziu_.” Giving each one farewell and then Darko the last, Nigel exits the room with another long drag, his desperate attempt to stay awake and delay the onslaught of fever, almost imminent now. 

Dramatically exiting the rectangular room with the smoke dangling off between his lips, he takes out one of the sample bags of coke, just enough for him to snort one thin line before trailing Adam’s path. His personal metal pipe inside already soiled and permeated leather jacket in his preferred suite, he plucks out a rumpled, but still crisp twenty dollar bill which he hadn’t bother to exchange. Trip to the States were rampant and frequented these days. There were obvious demeanors and vibes oozing off of him, that bad-boy swagger and assertive stance that gave off he was indeed an alpha, the most top of the food chain that ravaged and viciously devoured whoever foolhardy and moronic enough to get in his way. Adam had surely known that he was definitely capable of killing and being violent behind his usual banters and antics. Not his most spiralling addictions and his vices. The girls were already addicts, to booze, drugs and sex. Behind their innocent facade masked with thick makeup and their outfits, he knew them like the back of his hands, because that had been his adolescent and most of his twenties. 

Clenching his fist as he takes a quick snort of the line after his trembling fingers make the thin line, his lips also press akin to the coke line as his eyes roll. How did this get so fucking messed up like this? Jaws clenched as he quickly snorts, his chin tucks in as he feels his veins throb. Feeling the initial surge shooting straight up to his brain, the neurons fire frenetically as he feels his senses electrify, at least he can maintain his consciousness lest slipping towards an oblivion. His brows furrow as he strides across the threshold of Level 2, leading downstairs and away from all the swarming crowds. Knowing the girls, they’d probably headed towards the quiet and spacious room by the back of the club where the noise would be merely reduced to a throb. 


	15. Chapter 15

As the door opened to the web of private client rooms at the back of the club, Adam realised what he saw on the main level was really only an entry point. The services offered in the quieter spaces of the nightclub looked to be a good deal more intimate…. and a good deal more confusing.

With the lights turned down, the neon palate no longer seemed harsh and daunting. Instead, the décor looked very modern, almost minimal, strange pieces of furniture interspersed amongst other unusual interior features. Poles, platforms and ceiling ropes occasionally counted among them. The volume of the music was lower here too, and, where the doors to certain areas were pulled taut, Adam was able to hear a softer hum of laughing and moaning.

“Very expensive” Loana smiled kindly at Adam, seeing his gaze slip to what looked like a menu card perched on one of the table-cubes.

As they circled through another beaded curtain, Adam recognised the large U-shape of the central bar area, and realised they had come out on the opposite side of the main level. Away from the speakers, Adam was able to hear himself think this time. Andreea announced she was fetching them all some beers, whilst Loana slipped onto the closest couch, gently patting the empty space beside her.

Relieved at not being asked to make an attempt at dancing, Adam settled back onto the red leather, staring all the way over the crowd, just able to make out the room he had seen Nigel in earlier. This time, the door was pushed ajar, Darko striding out with two blonde men in tow. His face gritted to an overly pleasant expression, Darko seemed to be favouring his right leg. His hand gestures told the same story, welcoming and enthusiastic…  _and_ , Adam thought,  _kind of menacing?_

The occasional blast of a smoke machine did little to increase the visibility across the floor, and when the haze had cleared, Darko and the men were gone. Instead, Adam could see the side profile of another man, tall and unsteady, an American bill in one hand, a small packet in the other. Craning his neck around the crush of bodies making their way to the bar, Adam almost caught another glimpse of him, before…

“ _Drinks are on me!_ ” Andreea bounced back into view, handing Adam one of the beers, clinking the other against Loana’s. “Well. On Nico. He owes me one.” She winked at the bartender, who blushed and rapidly turned his attention back to lighting another row of shots. Adam noticed his was a light-beer, and felt rather grateful. Grinning at his new friends, Adam had hardly taken a sip before a second man approached, his eyes all squinted, his jaw somehow misaligned.

“Loana. There you are. Need to book a private session.”

Setting down her beer, Loana’s hands fidgeted through her bright hair as she stood up to talk to him. “ _Îmi pare rău Marc, eu nu lucrez în seara asta. Dar orice moment mâine_ …”

“Bullshit” the stranger stumbled slightly as he slurred over the word. “You’d rather take this pretty-boy foreigner’s cash over mine?”

Seeing a large hand swoop in his direction, Adam got to his feet, realising he was being spoken to. Andreea stood just as quickly, except instead of focusing on Marc, she appeared to be looking around the bar, trying to get someone’s attention. Nobody was looking back.

Loana’s hands fluttered around Marc’s shoulders, her voice soft, tugging him away. But Marc seemed more interested in Adam now.

“Did you hear what I said? You think you have a lot of cash or something?”

Adam knew there had been a misunderstanding. The man in front of him was unreasonably upset, his breathing heavy, pupils dilated almost to the whites of his eyes.

“I did hear what you said” Adam stated. “You asked Loana if she would rather take money from me than you. But I’m not paying her any money.”

As the face in front of him twisted in directions Adam had never seen before, he thought he might have to repeat himself, possibly slower this time. The next thing he knew, the back of his head had collided with the wall so hard that he dropped the bottle, beer and glass shattering in all directions. His whole body felt numb. All he could hear was screaming.

“ _Obtine de securitate! Securitate!”_

“ _S-au dus cu Darko!”_

_“Găsi Nigel! Aduce Nigel!”_

As the fist recoiled for another hit, Adam flailed both arms in front of him, quickly realising he should have covered his face instead. The blow caught between his cheekbone and nose, his knees giving out with the shock of the impact and sending him stumbling to the floor.

“ _Îl văd! El pare foarte rău!”_

_“Bolnav, sau de mare??”_

“ _Amândoi!_ ”

His hands slipping on the beer as he tried to get up, the man took the opportunity to send his boot into Adam’s stomach. Inhaling sharply, Adam felt the blood from the back of his nose suck into his throat, coughing as he tried to avoid crawling through too much broken glass. He could barely see, so it wasn’t working. He tried to think of something. When that turned up nothing, he tried to keep his eyes open. If he was going to die, he didn’t want to do it alone.

____

Feeling like sinking inside the sinkhole with each effortful step after another, the descend onto the first floor towards the back of the club is arduous and long. Time seems to stretch along with his faltering step as the amalgamation of the drug concocts new wave of sensation. The mix of stimulant and suppressant wasn’t good to begin with and now he can feel his stomach churn. Bile rising in his throat as he stands, his fingers holding the metal railing tightly as he leans against it. The fabric of his black button-down does nothing to absorb his sweat as a heavy layer of perspiration coats his sun-kissed skin. His head tilting downward as chin digs to his chest, the buttons seem to constrict on his adam’s apple with each bobbing movement. Trembling fingers undoing few uppermost buttons as he makes his unsteady way down, his lips thin as his lips purse, biting the lower one as the back of his hand wipes the beads forming around his hairline, rolling down his forehead and neck.

With a sweep of his hand as he feels the temperature rise, he rounds the corner of the painted wall that leads towards more private and expensive suits. It’s like looking into one of the model houses. With its sleek furnitures in black and white, accented in vivid reds and oranges to stimulate the senses, both gustatory and copulatory pleasures. Where all the hedonistic vices unfolded like a dam breaking open. The only thing that was stopping people from doing exactly those were the skyrocketing cost. As expensive it was, most wealthy clienteles coveted the room. Sometimes weeks in advance.    

The only sound Nigel hears is the lub-dub of his slow but frail heartbeat that erratically lifts his chest and the soft hum of the music emitting from each of the rooms. There were at times he had relished the view in front of them. In his most turbulent and tempestuous years in his twenties and thirties. Strippers, both hired and in house who Darko and he hired had filled the rooms. Not only for entertainment, but in full-face paint and shaking the velvet ropes. Of course, they couldn’t leave the club with the clients, but the private suites were there for viewing purposes, especially for those VIP clients who purchased time in half-hour increments. 

“ _Dă-mi o sticlă de șampanie nenorocit._ ” Immediately making his way to the center bar, Nigel asks for a bottle of sparkling wine by the bottle. As the bartender hands out the flute and a bottle, the stem of the glass dangles between his loose fingers as the other grabs the bottleneck of the champagne bottle. Usually, this section of the bar is almost dead quiet with only faint reverberation of the sound emitting from the slitted doors, but he registers some kind of bustle going on in one of the empty rooms, more into the corridor and away from the VIP suites where they had the access to look up to where he had been. Now surely empty and door widely pushed open. 

Then, Nigel immediately catches Marc’s voice, his orotund and boorish voice that had been unpleasant to his ears. In his early forties, his volatile and capricious personality had anyone to steer clear from him. Equally adamant as Nigel had been.  _Ce naiba e până acum , doar bine că nenorocita tip pentru a face probleme._  That fucking bloke’s good for nothing but trouble. Just like he had been. As hypocritical as it sounded, men like Marc weren’t welcomed in his club, or else he’d get his fucking ass kicked out.     

Breaking the champagne bottle open as the bottleneck connects with the white-and-black painted wall with red accents, the glass shard shatters against his hand, some even making into his hand as he feels warm blood trickle down his hand. Taking a long chug from the broken bottle and straightening his posture as best as possible, his oxfords step onto the broken glass and taps Adam’s shoulder. “I’ll fucking take care of this motherfucking trash.” 

The view of blood driving him in a frenzy of wrathful madness, his bloodshot eyes shoot up as his lips snarl upward, veins throb as his stance poofs up in a wide stance. Watching Adam go down with Marc’s menacing expression etches inside his brain, he doesn’t waste time nor unnecessary movements to strike with purpose. The flute breaking against the man’s head, drawing blood as a clenched fist connects with his cheekbone, where Nigel figures Adam had been hit. 

Jaw clenched and sneering as his lips twist, Nigel’s pallid, blotched face with red patches taking over them shoots up to Marc with a pernicious glare. “ _Plecăm naibii înainte de a mă întoarce nenorocita creierul tău pentru a terci._ ” Mere flaring of his nostril and his expressive hazel eyes tell emotion as his incendiary gaze unwaver against the bleeding man, Nigel can already feel the surge of unrelenting wrath override whatever is happening to his less than okay body, both sickness and the euphoric high about to collide upon him.


	16. Chapter 16

Adam spluttered as the blood from his nose leaked down his face, made worse as soon as he tried to get up. Raking his arms over the beer-stained floor, he pushed himself backward, wedging a large fragment of glass in his palm in the process. Winded and disorientated, he couldn’t even be sure it  _was_  backward, or anywhere else useful. Marc’s fists and boots and curses seemed to be all around him. He could hear Loana’s screaming, catching a glimpse of her high heels in between each new explosion of pain. Sweat rolled into his eyes, his vision blurring as the spiralling feature lights dipped over the scene, illuminating the mess of limbs and booze. And then there was Nigel’s hand against his shoulder, the familiar brusque pinch of his fingertips that let him know everything was going to be okay.

Except when he blinked, it wasn’t.

Clutching his abdomen, Adam twisted himself upright in time to see Nigel bringing the weight of a bottle over his assailant’s head, an equally vicious punch catching his face at the moment of impact. Nigel hardly flinched, the glare that followed enough to raise Adam’s heartbeat to a sickening whir. His mouth curving up at the edges, Marc looked almost obscenely hungry, seemingly unaware of the dark red streak slowly making its way past his ear. He didn’t look like he wanted to leave. And neither did Nigel. Which meant someone was about to get really, really hurt.

His hair plastered against his swollen cheek, Adam tried to stop any more blood from splattering over the shirt he had borrowed, pinching his nose with the hand without any glass stuck in it.

“Don’t worry about that!” he felt Andreea grab him under the arm, dragging him further from the punching and the glaring. Further from Nigel.

“No, no!” he scrambled to get free, only to find Loana pulling at his other side, scraping him free of the sticky pool of liquor.

“ _Ce fel de loc de rahat e asta?_ ” Marc’s voice was unnecessarily loud, every syllable near thrown against Nigel’s face, his eyes bloodshot from lack of blinking. “ _Am avut mai distractiv pe un colt de strada. Servicii mai bune de asemenea!”_

Laughing, he spat at Nigel’s shoes, running his fingertips over the knuckles that had collided with Adam’s face. Seeing them bruised and raw, Marc grew increasingly frenzied, the veins at his temples throbbing to some beat Adam couldn’t hear.

“ _Crezi că ești cineva? Spune-mi. Cine eşti tu?_ ”

“Don’t look at him, don’t make him think of you” Loana was whispering. But Adam didn’t think Marc was thinking of him, her, the club, or even Nigel. He didn’t think Marc was thinking at all.

As Marc leered all too close to Nigel, Adam had to strain to catch the last of his words.

“Look at you, fucked off your face.” Marc was really smiling now. It was the kind of smile that made Adam feel like his stomach was still at the bottom of the river.

“Maybe, the reason your club is trash, your girls are trash, and your special little guests are trash…” he jabbed a thumb in Adam’s direction, making Adam twitch without meaning to. “Is because you are trash. Maybe you’re just as much trash as the rest of us.”

____

It is as if he doesn’t have any control over his body now. Feeling more heat rise and coursing through his extremities, the warm and thick smear or crimson propels him to lash out even more, driven with sheer anger and animosity. That fucker had already been regarded as an eyesore and he couldn’t even act freely, because Marc had been a kind of motherfucking bastard who always stood in his way. No matter he brought in innocent boys and girls alike to partake in crapulous and bibulous activities, contaminating them to an orgy disguised as convivial meetings. Discursive and contumelious to even his standards, Marc had been turned into the gadfly of the club alleyway.

In his frenetic state of contrasting bodily reactions, he is not the one to escape unscathed, as Marc’s fist connects to his temple as well, feeling the brain spin even more as more queasy feeling takes over his bloodshot eyes. Now his hazel taking in the sanguine hues as they menacingly glower, his busted lips don’t even budge as he remains his nonchalant coldness, except his eyes are burning like a wildfire. Most of people would fear Nigel by then, but Marc wasn’t a ‘normal’ person who merely frequented the club. The throbbing pain behind his eyes intensifying into a prickling and searing burning pain as the fever begins to break, Nigel pulls himself with sheer willpower, wanting it to end. It’s something he never had wanted to show Adam. No matter how multifaceted and dualistic his personality had been, he wasn’t going to talk nor deal with someone who had been even worse than a pig. 

“You exactly know what kind of fucking place it is, it’s incomparably better than your squalor pigsty of an establishment you call a fucking strip club.” Assertive and monotonous, profoundly seething as his chords stand out, his bloodied fist clenches even tighter as his short nails dig deeper against his palm. His eyebrows lowering and squinting, his stance grows wide, although his body wants to slouch and lean against the wall merely inches behind him. “ _Pe mine? ai fi nenorocit prost al naibii dacă nu știți fața în jurul valorii de această parte a cartierului_.” Teeth bared and snarling, a cruel smirk dips his cheek as he feels warm trail of blood trickle down the curve of his pronounced cheekbone. The neon light above him feels too stifling against his hairline and forehead.

His hand hovering in habitual manner as he imagines blowing the bastard’s brain out, sadly, his handgun is disposed in the suite inside the leather jacket. Regretting not bringing it over with his black-clad form, more beads of sweat clings and rolls over his spine, all the way down to the dip of his hipbones. “Look whose fucking dirty mouth is talking. Sophistries flying out of your fucking contumelious mouth babbling out such presumptuous manner.” Already having a supercilious attitude towards the man who had assaulted Adam in what he considers unacceptable manner, knowing what the man does is an abomination, he doesn’t even make an attempt to return the degrading gesture. 

No matter how the state of his body had been, he is rather adamant and intrepid when it comes to protecting his people. His companion and romantic interest. Knowing his assessment hadn’t been one fallacious assumption, he would soon get his chance to remove him once and for all. Of course, he’d have to be very cautious as this hapless encounter had proved that he had been the ‘trash’ which the man accused him of being one.  

Closing in against Marc, the tip of the jagged edge finds the man’s throat, watching the sharp shard push against the sensitive skin. “And this fucking badass trash is giving you a fucking ultimatum. Get the fuck off this club or I stick this in your fucking throat.”


	17. Chapter 17

Up until that moment, everything since Adam stepped off the back of Nigel’s motorcycle down at the Dâmbovița River seemed to have passed incredibly quickly. Barely able to keep his footing, Adam felt he had been dragged headfirst through one big adrenaline-filled blur, which he could hardly have controlled any better if it were all just happening in a dream. But that didn’t change the fact that he desperately wanted to, and worse, still felt that somehow, he should have. Because now, at entirely the wrong moment… everything was slowing down.

The large piece of glass had moved from Nigel’s hand, poised at his side, to the throbbing vein at Marc’s neck. The movement had been so graceful that, had Adam not realised the gravity of the situation, it would have looked more like a practiced dance than a threat. Nigel’s body curved carefully to the side, cornering Marc against the wall at a strangely uncomfortable angle, making it difficult for the weightier man to move. Whether it was the light, or the shadows, or the hush now suffocating the pulse of the dance track… Nigel suddenly looked a lot different, a lot more alarming somehow. And for the first time, Adam saw a new expression cross Marc’s face too. But not the one Adam expected. 

Not the one that meant Marc was sorry. 

Not the one that said he was going to leave.

…Not the one that was going to make Nigel put the glass down.

Adam felt a hand clasp firmly over his mouth, realising a second later it was his own. Whether he was trying to keep himself from shouting or hyperventilating, he didn’t know.  _Or maybe you don’t want to tell Nigel to stop._

The thought almost worse than the scene spiralling away from him, Adam pulled his knees up against his chest, rocking back and forth as if that would somehow make it all go away.

“Adam, Adam…”

A hand at his arm. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t Nigel, Nigel wasn’t even really there. The two men in front of him just appeared to be Nigel and Marc, just like characters in a horror movie sometimes remind you of people you know. And the sets sometimes look like your house. And the ghosts sometimes whisper like your nightmares. But it isn’t really real, and you can just-

“Adam! Look at me!”

Taking a wild breath, Adam felt two hands grip him at the shoulders, turning him rather abruptly aside. Recognising Loana, Adam stopped rocking for long enough for her to take both hands to the sides of his face, a little gentler this time.

“Is this all because of what I said?” he babbled. “About you. And the money. To Marc?”

“No.” Andreea had crouched beside, shooting an unreadable glance over his shoulder. “It’s never about what you say. It’s always about them.”

“Who?” Adam could feel himself wanting to turn around. Nigel wasn’t well. Things weren’t right. Loana kept his eyes firmly focused on her instead, softly tucking his hair back behind his ears.

“Whoever.”

“Why is he here?” Adam could feel every part of him shaking, hoping Loana wouldn’t notice as her hands stroked his cheeks. Despite her assurances, Adam was certain this was his fault. Marc hadn’t started punching anyone until he had spoken-

“It isn’t” Loana interrupted Adam’s thoughts. He was pretty sure he hadn’t said any of them out loud though. “Marc. He owns another place in the second district. Like this place but… bad place.” Her mouth became slightly crooked as she pulled at her bottom lip with her teeth. “Place I used to work. Sometimes Marc comes to…” she took her hands away to motion around her in the air.

“Look around?” Adam suggested. He could feel the blood trailing from his chin down his neck, the already dried splatter tugging at the front of his shirt.

“Look around. Yes.” Loana seemed to be struggling with the rest of it, her eyebrows all pinched beneath her purple fringe.

Listening to her talk, Adam felt time was almost returning to its normal speed, the buzzing silence swelling back to the rhythm of the sound system. And he could hear Nigel’s voice again. That was a good thing.

“- _or I stick this in your fucking throat_ _._ ”

Adam twitched in confusion. He wasn’t used to hearing Nigel’s tone so low. He sounded very, very serious. Shifting his head to look over his shoulder, Loana stopped him with a squeeze at his hand. Her face looked surprisingly crumpled, and Adam wished he could say something to reassure her. But Marc had already said something first.

“You should really swing by my club some time, Nigel.” His voice was syrupy thick, labouring each word. He wasn’t at all giving the impression that the invitation was friendly. “ _Sunt sigur că am putea găsi unele lucruri mult mai interesante pentru a lipi în gât tău_.”

Adam didn’t understand. The sinking horror on Loana and Andreea’s faces told him they understood all too well. Loana gripped his hand so hard that it hurt.

“Keep looking at me” she whispered. “Don’t turn back. You’re not here. You’re not here. Just keep looking at me.”

____

Now his body was feeling more like the molten lava which had begun to rapidly cool under the clammy skin. The shiver had been completely unconscious as his thrown-off body worked feverishly to keep his body cooled down. If he had heat goggles on, he’d see steam rising off his scalp and his face, hot enough to cook the raw egg from flipping out in front of this fucking crook who had patterned something after Darko and his club. Where the fuck was darko when he needed him? Ah, he had sent him with the two men, which they would kill either later tonight (which will be most unlikely, considering his condition) or preferably, early in the morning tomorrow or late night at the latest. 

His exhales growing breathy and his voice becoming even hoarse and gravelly than his usual, the only thing that is clutching onto his consciousness and his absolute attention is the bloodlust, sting of his face, which had been amplified with the fever as well as the blood still trickling down from his sharp chiseled cheekbone. His already high cheeks swollen up and he could even make the gash with each blink of an eye, but he does not. Transfixed against Marc’s darker hues which appear much more sinister than his own does. If he had been a gracefully moving leopard, Marc was a lazy male lion, full of smugness, even his unkempt mane suggested the idea of being one.

As he hears Adam and the girl’s quivering voices, he is torn between jabbing the sharp shard against the bastard’s throat and kicking him out for him to bleed from the jugular, or merely calling the security, which of course will have him look like a stinking loser, or better, letting his pent up anger all out as his body succumbs more to the virus and the aftermath of the hypothermia. All the telltale signs are nothing to sneeze at, but it is remain to be seen how far out his illness will affect his less than perfect mood right now. He wasn’t going to simply shift gears because of Adam nor the girls being present. The situation got way out of hand as Marc had insulted not only him, but the establishment and the staff members who had worked inside the club. 

“Why the fuck should I drag my goddamn ass over the subpar imitation, a shoddy establishment simply patterned after the superior one? In other words, it has been long overdue that you drag your ass out here to check how far we’ve gotten along, soaring to become the most popular venue of all Bucharest nightclubs.  _Devreme sau mai târziu unitate dracului vor fi eliminate , naibii afară de pe harta_.” His fingers now turning white as he presses the jagged edge up under the man’s adam’s apple, Marc simply tilts his chin up, not budging as he registers Nigel’s shoulders slouch in his usual fashion, actually, more so, that his body begins to deceive him.

“Stick what in my throat, your fucking shoes? _Înainte să rup dracului gât în bucăți zdrențuite , plecăm naibii de aici._  Three time’s the fucking charm, isn’t it?” A crude smirk as he watches more blood trickle down with the pressure firm against the assailant’s neck, a macabre image of Adam laying unconscious on the floor drives him even more nuts. Maintaining his calm facade as much as possible, he watches Marc back down for now. If the man ever entered the premise ever again, then he doesn’t know if he can hold onto the clutch of nonchalant demeanor that he usually holds in his professional setting. 

“From here on in, he’s barred from the club. If he’s ever fucking busted again, then  _e un mort nenorocit_.” As soon as the man’s broad frame disappears from his view, he doesn’t let his guard down as his tempestuous pupils unblink against the view outside. The bright golden hues emphasizing his bloodshot eyes further. Blind and naked emotions pouring out as he shuts the metal door that leads to the back alley of the club, he wipes the blood from his hands and cheek, smearing it even more against his skin. He doesn’t even realize the inside of his mouth had been also cut with the brutal blow earlier. 

Brooding and etched as he almost slides off against the wall, the champagne bottle breaks as his form collapses against the painted wall, his eyes still seething and slightly vacant as a hand reaches to grab Adam, wherever he could grasp his bloodied hand onto. 


	18. Chapter 18

Adam heard a door slam, the force of it prickling over his skin. All of a sudden, Loana and Andreea were looking at each other in surprise, perhaps a little in awe. Something had happened which they didn’t expect. And whatever it was, it was making them very relieved, and a tiny bit happy. Peeling back the mesh of fingers over Adam’s eyes, Loana was tapping him on the wrist rather urgently.

“Go, go!” she whispered, gesturing over Adam’s shoulder.

Twisting around, Adam was on his feet in time to see Nigel’s frame hit the wall behind. He looked unsteady, his arm raised, hand reaching out…

Adam rushed forward, feeling Nigel grasp at his shoulder. Supporting him between the wall and his own body, Adam slowly wrapped an arm around Nigel’s back, standing firm as Nigel’s head came to rest somewhere between his collarbone and neck. It was then that Adam realised Nigel wasn’t just fired from the exertion of the exchange- he was burning up from the inside out.

“Oh my god” Adam blurted, quickly remembering that wasn’t the kind of reaction that usually reassured someone. Pressing his cheek against the side of Nigel’s forehead, he stroked his hand back and forth over the sweat-soaked suit instead, trying to be comforting. Even Nigel’s body felt hot through the dense material. Way, way hotter than it should be. “This isn’t okay. This really isn’t okay. You’re not okay.”

From the distant expression on Nigel’s face, his eyes slightly vague and unfocused, Adam guessed Nigel had probably figured that out too. If not, the fact he was now slumped completely in Adam’s arms would certainly have been the first warning sign. Though, then again, such things had hardly stopped Nigel from charging off on some ill-advised meet-and-greet with Darko not an hour before. This time, Adam wasn’t letting Nigel out of his sight. If Nigel was going to collapse, there would only be so many occasions he would be able to get up again, and Adam didn’t plan on being absent for the one where he didn’t.

“Nigel, I think we need to get you back upstairs. Actually, I mean… I… know we have to get you back upstairs.” Freeing a hand, he tried to mine the action of returning to the higher hotel levels to Loana, but she was already a step ahead of him, pointing toward the back of the alcove. Seeing where the edge of the bar bled off into the seating area, Adam noticed a small service elevator, which he assumed was used to re-stock the bar. Gently, he ran a hand over Nigel’s face, pushing back the mess of hair that had fallen over his eyes. With a plan and means to follow it, Adam felt a little calmer, spoke a little softer. “I’m  _going_ to get you back upstairs.”

Maneuvering himself toward the elevator doors, he kept his arm tucked firmly around Nigel’s waist as they walked. Whilst Nigel mostly seemed to be staring at the ground, he was responsive at least, and Adam kept talking. He wanted Nigel to know he was okay, that he didn’t have to be worried, that the soreness in his ribs was mostly faded now, and in fact he was very glad Nigel showed up when he did. In truth, Adam wasn’t exactly sure these were all very soothing or consoling topics, but Nigel always seemed a lot calmer when he was hearing about anything other than the nightclub, even if that meant chatting about… things that happened in the very far corner of the nightclub. Adam frowned. He decided he possibly needed to rethink this strategy.

Propping Nigel up against a crate of wine that had been left in the elevator, Adam waited for the hum of movement, only exhaling when he felt the mechanism jolt into action. The service elevator was far less smooth than their earlier ride to the suite, but Adam had never been more grateful to be in a small space in his life. It was a small space that was taking him ever further away from Marc, Darko, those two blonde men, and the horrible puddle of broken glass they had left on the dancefloor. Somehow, he didn’t think anyone had even noticed. Or maybe they were just used to it.  _The police do not come._

“Have you ever been unwell like this before?” Adam asked, the sharp fluorescents illuminating the bruise cutting against Nigel’s cheekbone, the small dribble of blood from his mouth. “I… don’t think I have seen you this ill. Unless you count when you almost drowned earlier tonight.” Adam winced as soon as he heard himself finish the sentence. “Um. Thank you for that too, by the way. Not for drowning. For, um, trying to save me.”

The elevator was slowing down. Before the heavy doors could churn apart, Adam had wrapped both arms around Nigel’s middle, pressing his cheek against the centre of Nigel’s chest. He meant it.

____

He sure knows Marc isn’t the type to let it go - most likely, he will be back with more worthless douchebags like he is, more of the lesser ones that simply isn’t devoting his time to. Especially after how he had insulted his club which had patterned after Darko’s and his own. As much as he didn’t want to admit - Marc had been exactly like his younger self. Much more flippant and insolent, volatile and reckless when it came to the business and getting caught up in the craft of it. Driven by sheer motivation, desire to put their respective establishment on the map, he had already gotten a reputation of being notorious as well as being a charmer. He was the type to garner attention, both bad and good. He was a kind of an individual people wouldn’t forget so easily. With his intense and soulful hazel that seemed to penetrate into the souls, unblinking and slightly filmy at all times. And then there was his stance and demeanor. A vehicle for charming people with his feline and serpentine movement. Like a predator cornering its prey and about to strike a fatal blow, he had a mesmerizing quality that everybody looked up to, or became jealous. He had been using that particular characteristic to his advantage and benefits, it had worked. Darko had the strategic plannings, he was the people-dealer.

An unquenchable and stifling heat rising from the core of his body as his hypothalamus goes out of whack, the black suit that does nothing to absorb the dense coat of perspiration does nothing to help him cool down. A heavy thud against the wall behind him sending his shoulders to slouch in return, chin dips against his chest as sweat-drenched ashen locks veil across his sharp cheekbones as the acute prickling sensation behind his eyeballs intensify. The full-on fever breaks as soon as his tense guard crumbles down as soon as the door slams shut. The adrenaline quickly fading away as the drug does nothing to escalate the stimulation. His body too wired in sickness. 

His body turning towards Adam’s direction as his buckling knees strain to hold himself, a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder is the only leverage he has to not let himself falter and collapse in a heap. Biting the inside of his cheek in order to stop groans from slipping from his parted mouth, the faint thumps of the nightclub at its full swing and the neon colored luminescent lights illuminating the corridor too much amplified against his ears and eyes. Bleary eyes staring unfocused across Adam’s face, his lower lip smacks against his teeth, biting it hard enough to swell as his heavy and deep-set eyelids tightly squeeze shut. The fine lines around the corner of his eyes accentuated as more fat beads of sweat roll across his chiseled cheekbones, all the way down to the inked surface on his taut chords. 

Nodding, a small scowl takes over his face as the sting from the hard blow sends more blood to trickle down. He still feels the mixture of his blood and saliva dribbling slowly on the floor, the inside of his mouth busted open by the clench at the initial blow. With his immune system compromised, the mere taste of coppery tang sends him to feel queasy. A totally new sensation experienced by him. He even relished tasting blood and now his stomach was churning. The acid in his stomach and the bile in his throat imminent. He pushes it down as best as he can, feeling more like he was trying to get a big piece of rock down his throat. The service elevator which would occasionally shake and set up a swing motion doesn’t aid his desperate effort. 

His heart palpitating in erratic beats, the rough and chipped surface of the wine crate is uncomfortable at best, the fibers of his suit catching on the splintered surface as his broad back presses against it. His head rolling limply against the sharp edge of the crate, he shifts his hips to adjust his position, hand holding onto Adam’s side as well as the metal bar of the elevator. “No, not ever like this before.” Croakily and gravelly voice shakes his chest, as he roughly pulls as the sweat-drenched collar of his shirt. Wiping the corner of his mouth and spitting a bit of phlegm and coagulated blood from the corner of his busted lips onto the floor, he clears his throat a few times before flashing a faint smirk, the other side of his lips dipping and plumping his cheek. Even the minutest movement seems to require more effort now that his body feels out of his control. 

His chin digging into Adam’s shoulder as a hand moves to envelop the back of shorter man’s neck, he can feel the warmth and a faint throb of Adam’s pulse as he feels more slick substance trickle down. “You fucking aren’t okay either.” When he recuperates, perhaps he’ll even pay Marc a visit to exert his retribution in blood. Vengeance that Marc will surely hoping to get him for, but he’ll be ready to pay it in sevenfold.  _With his fucking worthless life. No one, he means it firmly, no fucking one hurts the one that I dearly care for._


	19. Chapter 19

As the elevator continued to jerk toward the upper levels, Adam saw Nigel turn a little paler, the bouncing sensation not doing much for him either.

“It’s alright, just another couple of floors…” Adam mumbled, not wanting to be too loud or forceful when he could clearly see Nigel had taken a fair bit of damage. Seeing Nigel spit a mouthful of blood on the floor, Adam realised Marc’s punch must have caught him at the edge of his lip, the wound still leaking from within. The blood didn’t look completely liquid, another sign that Nigel’s immune system was as spent as the rest of him. As Nigel manoeuvred himself over Adam’s shoulders, fingers brushing against his neck, Adam felt himself tremble with relief. He hadn’t realised how much he wished to just hold Nigel until he was in the middle of doing so.

Rubbing one hand softly between Nigel’s shoulder blades, he brought the sleeve of his borrowed shirt up, wiping the corner of Nigel’s mouth where a graze of wetness remained. Nigel still looked a bit like he was going to be sick, but Adam didn’t care. He’d probably swallowed too much river water anyway. He stroked his palm against the flush of Nigel’s cheek, wiping the sweat that was pooling in the shadows below his eyes. Nigel’s voice hadn’t sounded right when he’d spoken either, all coarse and deep through his chest.

Realising Nigel must have noticed the swelling and bruising on his own face, Adam couldn’t help a small grin. In the height of his concern, Adam forgot he appeared to have crawled from some back-alley himself, hardly the reassuring, comforting look he was going for. Failing to find a bit of his sleeve that wasn’t covered in beer, floor grime or bodily fluid, he decided the back of his hand would have to do, and made a decent attempt to smear most of the dried blood where it had settled against his collar. He had a sneaking suspicion he may have just made it worse. The sooner he got himself and Nigel back to the room the better.

“I haven’t either. Been so unwell, I mean.” Adam breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator doors opened, holding Nigel close as they walked slowly toward the doors of the suite. Seeing some splintered wood sticking to the back of Nigel’s jacket from the wine crate, Adam carefully brushed it off, annoyed at himself for not being more vigilant. “But, you don’t have to worry. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

Helping Nigel lean against the wall while he fished out his electronic key, the whirring click of the door-lock pulling back sounded more welcoming than ever. “Here- let’s get you inside.”

Only turning the lowlights on, Adam was relieved to find the thermostat had kept the room rather cool. Not too cold- he didn’t want all the sweat on Nigel’s body to chill all too suddenly- but he needed to bring his temperature down a little.

Looking at the unforgiving suit material, Adam decided that was a good place to start. Sitting Nigel at the edge of the king-sized mattress, he gently tugged at the jacket until it slid from Nigel’s arms. Next, he loosened the topmost buttons of Nigel shirt, which looked tight enough as it was, fever or no. He wasn’t sure Nigel had ever been so accommodating in allowing Adam to fuss over him. If Adam hadn’t been worried sick… it would have also found it kind of nice.

Opening the minibar fridge, Adam frowned, remembering the various shots of alcohol he had seen Nigel consume throughout the evening. Could there have been something else that had perhaps made his illness slightly worse? He took out a small bottle of Evian, cracking the seal on the lid. Careful not to jog the bed too much as he eased down beside, Adam folded himself to sit cross-legged, gently holding the bottle of water to Nigel’s mouth.

“Please drink? Slowly? I think you might be a bit dehydrated too.”

Content to wait until Nigel took a sip, Adam kept a steadying hand at Nigel’s lower back, feeling the exhausted muscle shiver beneath his touch. It seemed like Nigel was hot and cold at once, neither appearing very comfortable.

_I’m right here._ Adam repeated to himself.  _Whatever happened, whatever happens, I am here by your side._

____

Almost all of his life, the scent of iron-rich blood had been with him and even more so than the healed scar on his left side which still tingled through this day because of infections and complications he had gone through, it even boggles his mind that this particular sensation tops everything he had ever faced. It’s only a busted lip and in his normal state, he would’ve merely smirked and savored the taste of it, even swallow the amalgamation of his own saliva and blood, which for sure he had gotten used to from getting into petty fights in his teen years to more brutal and serious ones that would render him bruised, battered and sometimes more broken. Not the bones, but probably damaging his reputation of being a exceptional melee fighter. Even when the fights gave hi the benefit of the doubt, he always would spring back up and recuperate, as his high pain tolerance and the sheer willpower had helped him to charge like a bull. Always pointing his chin up, however wounded and trashed he had been, the predator had always remained a predator. 

Now feeling more like a broken rag doll than a wounded animal, he is even surprised that his consciousness still holds on. Maybe he’s still wary about potential dangers, or more like a vexation that would prevent him from getting much well-deserved rest. It might be from the remnant of drug coursing through his bloodstream or he’s that vertiginous, but the hardwood floor of the service elevator feels rippling in waves under his oxfords, stained with Marc’s saliva and his own blood drops. His drooping eyes slack and more sweat covering him in filmy layer as he feels the skin on the side of Adam’s neck cool his cheek slightly, still, the tremor that his entire body produces is becoming more and more visible under his suit. Thick lashes fluttering as he feels the lower lip move along with Adam’s sleeve wiping the blend of sweat, saliva and blood, probably with some tears as well that the ever growing prickling sensation doesn’t subside, liquid hazel hues especially look lighter under the flourescent light.   

Head feeling like a whirlpool blooming inside his brain as the hard edges soften into rounded curves and something akin to oscillating sound waves. “That fucking worthless bastard came to get me. You weren’t be the one to take the fucking beat down like that.” The bridge of his nose crinkling and his lips twitching as he abruptly parts from the crate where he had leaned against, the last thing he cares for is the splinters digging into the fibers of his already ruined suits. Possessions are replaceable. He does not care about more scars on his body. He has enough of them, more than most people would get in their lifetime. Some visible and prominent, some so old and minute that it blends into his natural body tone. “I’m not fucking worrying. I know you’ll be okay. All I fucking care for is that motherfucker doesn’t grace my club ever again.” Croaky sound slipping out again as he takes heavy steps towards the suite they had been previously, each step feels like he’s walking inside the pit full of mud, his muscles so overworked and feeling like they’re weighing him down.  

The soft whirring click the most pleasurable sound of the night for him, a long waited rest merely few feet away from him. Then his throat suddenly feels closed and feels nauseated than ever before. The cold water of Dâmbovița River still inside his stomach and all the other liquor he had drunk that night, the strong Țuică he had drank in empty stomach brews inside him, wanting to be expelled. Easing down on the mattress and taking Evian bottle in his hand, he simply thinks, perhaps a sip of water will ease the uncomfortable sickening sensation and dispel whatever imminent is going to happen. Repressing the feeling as he is about to take the sip by tilting his back, then he feels it. 

Holding his finger as his lips thin and tightly closed, his turbulent stomach is at work as he shivers and springs up, water bottle still in his hand, clutching until his knuckles turn white. Shuddering and drawing towards the toilet, as his throat seethes, his shoulders suddenly lurch as all the contents of what he had eaten gets vomited inside the whirling water as he flushes it. Dropping the bottle on the tiled floor as slender fingers weakly hold onto the porcelain surface, he heaves a series of groans as more dry heave comes out. 

Shaky fingers undoing his shirt, he feels more beads roll across the valley of his spine, all the way down to his oblique muscles. Grabbing the towel laying across the bathtub he had been sitting in not too long ago and giving a careless wipe of his mouth, he just wants to go back to that time and tell Darko he’s not fucking okay. Then all of these fucking messup wouldn’t happened  _at all._


	20. Chapter 20

The mattress twitched beneath Adam’s legs as Nigel suddenly stumbled to his feet, veering toward the bathroom with some degree of urgency. Uh oh. Staring after the bottle still clutched in Nigel’s hand, Adam wondered if giving him something to drink might not have been such a good idea after all. Peering from where he sat, Adam just caught a glimpse of Nigel dropping to his knees, the sound of the plastic water bottle hitting the floor echoing in the tiled space. Untangling his legs, Adam quickly followed after. He wasn’t sure if Nigel would mind someone seeing him throwing up, but, then again, Adam also didn’t feel he was just  _someone_. He was supposed to be the person who Nigel could turn to if things went wrong. And maybe also the person who shouldn’t have let all this happen.

As Adam slipped round the door, he stepped in the puddle of fresh water that had leaked from the bottle, already soaking into Nigel’s trousers as he kneeled on the floor. His first instinct was of course to grab some towels and mop up the spill. Until he realised Nigel was really,  _really_  ill. Both his hands were gripping the toilet bowl for support. It reminded Adam of the time he had once become seasick on what was supposed to be a pleasant cruise across the harbour, and looked and sounded just as bad. Actually, a bit worse. He remembered the whole thing very vividly, mostly because it had been one of the most embarrassing experiences of his life, but also because Nigel had become incredibly protective. Whilst Adam hadn’t felt like moving at all, he remembered Nigel had been moving quite a lot, fetching him ice cubes and additional paper bags, trying that thing where you squeeze somebody’s pressure points, and finally feeding him a good deal of anti-nausea pills. It all hadn’t done much to make Adam less miserable at the time, but he had appreciated the effort nonetheless, and was willing to try his best to do the same.

Seeing Nigel shaking as the worst of it came to an end, wiping his mouth with no degree of gentleness, Adam reached for a clean face-towel from the sink. Running it under cool water from the faucet, Adam knelt down in the puddle beside Nigel, not caring at all that his own trousers were getting drenched in the process. Taking the damp cloth to Nigel’s face, he smoothed it over Nigel’s forehead, mopping the remaining sweat from the exertion. A little gentler, he moved the wet towel to his lips, soaking the trail of spit from the corner.

“Do you feel a bit better now?” Running his hand over Nigel’s back, he softly pulled the shirt over Nigel’s weakened arms. Nigel had already undone the buttons anyhow, and the material was only going to make him uncomfortable, all wet and sticky against his burning skin. Standing up, he took the clean glass next to the complementary toothbrush set and filled it with tap water. “In case you want to rinse” he explained.

Realising Nigel was still all hunched-over on the floor, Adam suddenly felt a pang of sympathy. Despite the fact Nigel had told him the only thing he cared about was that Marc did not return to his club, the fact remained that Adam still cared about Nigel. And Nigel looked very broken and teary right now, which was never a good time to bring up very serious conversations about what that really meant. Leaning down, Adam wrapped his arms underneath Nigel’s, slowly easing him back to his feet, where he could lean against the sink. Instead, he gave what he hoped was the kind of smile that might make Nigel feel less like he had just had the entire contents of his stomach tipped out and about.

Which is when Adam heard the tone at the door. And immediately felt his own stomach slide right alongside.  _No no no no no._

Ducking back into the main bedroom, Adam crossed the floor in a few long paces. This was  _not_  happening. He pressed his eye against the peep-hole.

This was happening.

Outside, he saw Darko pacing back and forth, raking his hands through his clipped hair, his suit looking more dishevelled than when last they spoke, his shirt slightly more… splattered.

“ _I’m not letting you in!_ ” Adam hissed through the doorframe. Darko rolled his eyes, pulling out the master electronic keycard. Once again, Adam felt that no one was listening to him. But for the first time… he realised how much he didn’t like it.

____

Veins protruding against his pallid face as they begin to throb, an uncontrollable shudder shakes his entire frame as he gives the last dry lurch. Although he has nothing to barf up anymore, the involuntary spasm of his larynx turns his already prickling eyes to be bloodshot and liquid. Feeling like his eyeballs are going to pop out of their sockets, as soon as he unbuttons the last one on his damp shirt, he lets his weakened frame to prop itself on his hand as he stills for a while. Frantic breathing knocking all of his stored energy off. Feeling the open wound inside his mouth letting out a mix of his saliva and blood, more dribble against the corner of his mouth as he wipes the last string with the back of his hand, falling onto the whirlpool of water draining along with the only substantial meal that he had eaten for the night. 

Another hand pressed firm against the front of the toilet, he props his forehead against his arm, hearing his heart lodged against the back of his throat as his lean stomach contracts. His mind reeling as he plays the previous events, what could’ve gone so fucking wrong that he ended up this fucking sick? Aside from almost drowning, maybe the cold murky water still in his system had done the damage. And his less than well insulated attire which were good at absorbing water, but horrible at maintaining and keeping his core body temperature high enough. After all, with all the bustle and hustle of the club keeping him on the edge as the deal sealing meeting approached. As much as he wasn’t the one to be on the tip of his feet all the time and to be under the pressure, until the moment when he had stepped into the small private room where the Dutch men had been, then all of his efforts melted away and the body had been quick to respond.    

Both hands moving to grab onto the porcelain surface now, his drained muscles and the force he had exerted before takes more toll on his body. The bloodied hand which still trickles small amount of blood begins to ache, his jeopardized immune system making all the other sensations amplified. Trying to push the prickling sensation behind his eyes away as lids tightly clench close, his body is covered with small prickles, something akin to goosebumps that gives his skin a sandpaper-like texture to his already hardened and sun-kissed skin, now looking more pale, as healthy glow had drained out of him. Feeling like as if someone had squeezed his ventricles tight, when he finally feels the churning and queasy feeling inside his stomach subside, he takes a relieved exhale, feeling Adam’s hand and the cold cloth against his forehead. Still, it isn’t enough to extinguish the wildfire that burns through his entire body, but he instinctively knows the worst didn’t strike him just yet.  

Trying to maintain his straightened posture, but faltering as his shoulders slouch forward, the fleeting coolness escapes the epidermal layer of his skin too quickly. Letting Adam chuck off the sweat-drenched shirt, more sweat rolls off his skin as he lets out a annoyed grunt. Not the act of it, but what seemed to be such an effortless movement now feels more like a troublesome nuisance. “A bit, but I still have this fucking splitting headache and my whole fucking body aches.” Nodding and grabbing the cup as his head bounces upward, drenched ashen bangs slapped across his moistened face. Gargling his mouth and ridding of the lingering bile taste, he forcefully spats and glances at his face. Trying to look unperturbed, but his face had turned white nonetheless. 

More beads of blood from both Marc and himself splattered on his upper thigh and seeped water along his kneecaps had his black trousers a mess and another cumbersome garment to be donned in, so after registering his fucked-up appearance for the last time before feeling the head ring like the percussion of drum continuously beating inside his skull. As soon as belt unbuckles and the garment bunches up around his ankles, he steps out of them and grabs the robe that had been carelessly discarded near the bathtub. 

An exasperated sigh lifts his fluttering chest.  _Not you again, Darko, get the fuck away. Not when I’m fucking ghastly white and sick as fuck._

Lips parched and thinned as his face scowls slightly, feeling the sting of his cheek where Marc’s unmistakable knuckle mark had been almost imprinted on his skin in a form of a livid bruise. The only light purple mark adorning his pale skin. “ _Ce dracu, Darko. Acum, nu este momentul potrivit dracului_.” Summoning all of his saved energy, the red bar begins to blink as it is about to go off. Teeth grinding, but knowing Darko was as stubborn and fucking headstrong when it comes to getting what he wants, he is definitely sure that this conversation will be about those two poor bastards who will meet their demise, or if it had been gone right, the contracted sum of money would be already in his account to be dispersed upon Darko and other associates. 

Closing his eyes in defeat, his hand tightens around the sash as he leans against the doorframe of the bathroom as he watches Darko’s also less than put together form. “ _Fă-o repede, ceea ce sa întâmplat dracu acolo? În cazul în care este vorba de moartea lor, atunci esti binevenit să rămână, dar dacă nu , lasă-mă dracului în pace._ ” The only thing he can deal right now is the matter of the dutch men’s demise, or else he just wants Darko gone as all he can think about is sinking onto the mattress and becoming one with it. 


	21. Chapter 21

Darko slammed the heel of his palm into the door, forcing his way into the room with such severity that Adam barely leapt out of the way in time, half-tripping over his own feet. Darko narrowed his eyes. What kind of moron stood right behind a door when he was on the other side? He didn’t have time for this shit. His eyes travelled from Nigel, white as curdled-milk and dressed in a bathrobe; to Adam, quivering in the corner, his bloodstained shirt looking like something out of a Tarantino film. Should have left them at the river and saved himself some goddamned trouble.

“Whatever the fuck you two started downstairs, I don’t even want to fucking know.” Giving Adam’s face a closer pass, he snapped his fingers, then flinched his hand to order Adam forward. Adam shuffled a single foot in his direction, enough for the lamplight to wash over his swollen nose. Broken for sure. Darko had seen enough of them to know. He doubted the kid even realised, too hyped up on fear and whatever sense of recklessness had kept him at Nigel’s side in the first place.

Feeling much more like breaking one himself, Darko redirected to the minibar fridge, kicking open the door and snatching the ice tray from the top shelf. Cracking the plastic with entirely necessary vehemence, he emptied the cubes into a discarded towel, twisting the ends at the top and holding it out to Adam.

“Unless you want to end up looking like this fucking badass-“ Darko jerked his chin toward Nigel “-keep this over your pretty face. You can thank me on the way to the hospital, I’m calling you a cab.”

In truth, Darko couldn’t have cared less if the cab was to take Adam to the hospital, the amusement park, or the fucking international airport with a one-way ticket. His little adventure in the club was over, as far as Darko was concerned. Keep him around and he would only end up getting killed. Or worse, getting in Darko’s way. Things had gotten out of hand. As much as Darko would rather storm right back down the corridor and pretend Nigel was simply drinking and snorting and smoking and whatever else he did with his spare time… some problems had to be taken care of personally. And, as Nigel would understand, there was nothing more personal than business.

His fists clenching just to think of it, Darko took a deep breath. “ _Nigel. Avem o situație proastă pe hands- nostru”_

“I’m not going to the hospital” Adam piped up.

Halting mid-sentence, Darko had to remind himself that if Adam was to disappear suddenly one evening, Nigel would probably have something to say about it.

“Then please, take my advice, and stay in this room.” Darko used his most pleasant and encouraging voice, reserved especially for when his temper was just below boiling point. “There are some rather dangerous people downstairs at this moment, and it would not be a wise choice for you to meet with them, if you value your safety.”

“More dangerous than you?” Adam asked. His tone sounded so perfectly innocent that Darko couldn’t tell if he was being a smartass, or simply an idiot.

“No.” Darko’s face twisted somewhere between a sneer and a smile. “Which is why it is best if Nigel and I deal with this unpleasant situation, and you stay up here, by yourself, with the door closed, and use that ice pack like I damn well suggested.”

His patience fraying toward the end of it, he bit into the inside of his cheek to keep any further aggression in check. He’d have far better use for it very soon. Turning back to Nigel, he gave a slow nod of his head, the small gesture enough to make his meaning clear.

“ _Oaspeții noștri au fost doar obtinerea confortabil_ …” he spread his arms, miming the two Dutch men reclining in the private lounge, oblivious to the happy ending Darko and Nigel had in mind. “ _Cand-_ ”

“I don’t speak Romanian” Adam ventured.

Whipping his head back toward the voice, Darko had to bite his tongue for a good few seconds before responding. “I… am not… speaking to you.”

“I know” Adam continued, calm enough to twist his fuse several inches closer to the match. “But I’m right here. And I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

The kid had some nerve, Darko would give him that. Fuck it.

“What I am saying” he snarled “is that for some reason, that I am very well going to suggest is related to  _you_ , I don’t just have two almost-dead Dutch assholes downstairs in the club right now. I have two almost-dead Dutch assholes inside the club,  _and_  four very-soon-to-be-fucking-dead Romanian assholes bashing down the back door. Marc and whatever other gutter-trash is working for him these days. All of whom we are going to have to remove, pronto, before they attract a less savoury crowd.” He stared Adam down, daring him to disagree.

Cutting across the room, Darko wrenched open the closet once more, throwing the last of the spare suits on the bed. The shirts were black this time, Versace. Delightfully tailored, obscenely expensive, perfect for ruining.

Stripping the white one from his back, he had barely noticed the stains until he was throwing it on the floor. Goddamn Marc. If those fools from The Palace hadn’t shown up, the Dutch men wouldn’t have suspected a thing. Smoothing his new shirt beneath the gun tucked at his belt, Darko realised Adam was looking at him, unreadable. Maybe it was the weapon. Although, surely he’d seen Nigel carrying one before. It wasn’t until Nigel had turned away, busying himself getting ready, dying, drowning, or whatever else the fuck he seemed to be taken up with these days, that Adam approached him.

Darko wasn’t used to people looking him in the eye like that. Given the fact that Adam was shivering from head to toe, Darko didn’t think Adam was much used to it either.

“Can’t you just… take care of it yourself?” Adam pleaded, his voice soft, so Nigel wouldn’t hear. “I don’t want anything bad to happen. I… promised I’d look after him.”

Darko tilted his head to one side. Then looked away. Any more shit like that and he might actually consider it.

“I’m sorry, Adam.” He murmured, low. “Nigel doesn’t need anyone looking after him.”

____

Situated at the foot of the bed and fighting his best to keep his deep-set heavy lidded eyes open to register just what the fuck is wrong with it now, his eyes roll in the most dramatic way, an exasperated sigh heaves deep from his chest as his wavering eyes shoot up in a burning way. His head is about to reach its boiling point and he feels like as if he  _is_ the heated asphalt of the scorching day, the heatwave rising off from the surface. He sure feels like the molten lava inside the volcano, swirling, spinning and undulating in its lava lamp-like movements, ready to consume and burn whatever comes in contact with his heated skin and now, his unquenching fire inside him and the anger.  _Now what?_

Hearing erratic and escalated heartbeat beating against his throat, his body limply flops down on the mattress and finds all of his muscles sinking. The mattress isn’t even temper-pedic, but it seems to conform to the shape of his limbs. Maybe he really is becoming one and coalescencing with the form-hugging surface. As much as he wants to zone off, his mind is still too wired to slip into an oblivion. Why the fuck his own body cooperate with his mind? When he had to stay awake, he passes out with a big fat black surrounding his view. When he has to get some well-deserved rest, fucked-up shit always keeps him on the edge. 

“To get your fucking fact straight - neither of us started the ruckus. That fucking motherfucking worthless shit Marc did.” Of course Darko must have known what the fuck was going on, or he wouldn’t have barged in here in his usual grand manner. His face impassive and eyes half-shut, even breathing through his nose requires much effort as his lips part, head weakly turning towards where Adam and Darko are standing. “Listen to that ‘badass,’ go to the hospital and get your nose fixed. Wouldn’t want your pretty face to be ruined, quicker you fix the shit, less complication and pain. I’ll be here before you come back.” His croaky voice means to be assertive and dogmatic, but fails as his own voice really starts to sound grating even to him. 

No matter how enervated, inebriated, stoned and even pallidly sick in occasions like this, the business meant everything to him. His insecurities and all of the doubts hidden behind the facade of heavily built stone walls, his unrelenting and entrenched personality had worked in favor of getting this multistory and thriving establishment to launch into something else entirely. Putting out a feigned facade of being a legal bar with billiards table and hotel in the upper floors, the primal means of[MAKING MONEY](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard#67497895) had been what Nigel and Darko just secured, the drug smuggling in shipments of containers and by killing people and disposing of them. That way, absorption of lesser associates and expandables were almost primeval.  

Even before his body registers it, Nigel is already on his feet, his own brain just about to explode off of his skull and steaming inside it as it does so. Taking out his handgun from the soaked jeans from earlier, his dextrous and deft hands quickly move to take apart the gun, clean each parts and check the loads. “As much as I want you safe, these fuc- people are really dangerous. Marc is only the tip of the iceberg.” He doesn’t even have to listen to more of what Darko has to say to him. Call it a primal instinct, or something he already had coming when he literally shoved a broken flute glass up in that bastard’s throat. Why he hadn’t fucking sliced him there and then is still a mystery. No, wait. Adam. If Adam hadn’t involved in it, then he’d sure have done it unconsciously.

Shaking his head while two men have their ways, his mind is reeling as his movements are reduced to absolute essentials. No time to have his energy drained, especially now that he just had vomited what was keeping him even standing on his feet down the toilet. Wanting to stop by roaring out loud, but maintaining his calm by keeping a glazed look, his etched facade is just enough to show that enough is enough. Holding his finger as he grabs the extravagant suit, second one of the night to be perfectly ruined by splatters of blood and more of his own sweat, he feels like a bull roaring itself across the plains.    

Feeling like he had stripped, or rather, defeated Adam of his hopes of spending the night quietly and privately in his preferred suite, he is once again donned in all-black, dressed to kill, both literally and figuratively. His handgun already checked, seven .54 caliber bullets, six fuckers who are going to drop dead. And another revolver, a backup. Just in case. He can’t fuck this up before the matter gets worse than it already is. A brooding look taking over his visage as he slowly shuts his eyes, taming his headache as he tries to push the pain towards the back of his head.  _Third time is the fucking charm._  Seething as now he has to direct the aggravation towards the gutter trash, fucking worthless assholes, he turns to Adam and locks his lips against the corner of the other’s. 

“Lock the door, stay the fuck out of it. I don’t want you getting injured more than you are right now, gorgeous. Keep warm, use the fucking ice pack like Darko told you.” Summoning all of his strength as the jacket drapes on his slouched form, there must be some other associates at work tonight. He’ll take four Romanian soon-to-be-fucking-dead assholes, but he’s overused as he already is. “ _Voi lua nemernici români , luați Cei curând olandez nenorocit să fie cele morți dracului_.” The cylindrical flute clicking in place as well as the hammer does, too, his bloodshot hazel orbs are now blazing like a midday sun. He’d fucking burn himself out and consumed by the parching heat if he has to. 

_“Adu-mi un alt asociat naibii să mă susții, discret. Marc este a mea pentru a avea grijă de, el poate avea grijă de restul.”_


	22. Chapter 22

The door closed, Nigel and Darko’s voices fading down the corridor and into the elevator beyond. Adam stood still. He could still feel the warmth of Nigel’s kiss at the side of the mouth. His favourite spot. Nigel’s voice, all rough and gentle at once, telling him to take care, to keep warm. Nigel would be back. Maybe not soon, but it was Nigel. He always came back.

Numb, Adam retraced Nigel’s steps through the suite, picking up the various items of strewn clothing. The bathrobe, still damp from spilled water. Nigel’s belt and trousers, nearly dry now, the dark red splatters almost invisible against the black. He wondered if his blood was mixed in there somewhere too. It seemed to be everywhere else. Opening one of the cotton laundry bags, he folded Nigel’s clothes in a neat pile, then, hesitating, folded Darko’s dishevelled shirt alongside. They both worked here, after all. Adam was sure they could sort out who’s-who afterwards. He marked the number of items on the guest card, then placed it next to the door for collection. The room looked very tidy now. His heart could not have been more of a mess.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he realised he had left Darko’s makeshift icepack on the blankets, the cold water half melted into the woollen fabric.  _Use the icepack like Darko told you._  Sniffling, Adam gingerly placed the towel against his cheek, his nose still throbbing beneath. He tilted his head back, not wanting to open the wound all over again. Even on the dimmest setting, the overhead lights still stung his eyes. Setting the towel aside, he decided he’d rather not see anything at all. If he just went to sleep, by the time he woke up, Nigel would be lying right beside him. And it would all be over.

Spurred on by the thought, Adam tore off his bloodied shirt rather fiercely, kicking himself free of the too-long trousers and too-small shoes. More upset than he wanted to believe, Adam scrunched the clothes into a ball, then stuffed them into the waste paper basket. He wasn’t even going to launder them. He never wanted to see those clothes again.

As Adam pulled back the bedsheets, a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. It looked like it had been torn in a rush, all crumpled and scuffed at the edges. Maybe something Darko had dropped? Wary, Adam reached to his feet. Better to make certain, no matter how much he didn’t want to know.

_Hi Adam. I liked meeting you tonight. Sorry your first time in the club didn’t go so well. But I think you’re really nice. If you ever need any help here, you can call me. From Loana x_

On the other side, she had scribbled her mobile number. Still standing in his briefs, Adam read the note through twice, just to be sure. Then, very carefully, he smoothed out the creases and placed it on the bedside table. From the very corner of his eye, he could still just see it as he lay down on the mattress. The very big and empty mattress. He decided not to turn out the lights after all.

-

To Adam, it seemed that his eyes had barely closed for a second, before a very loud noise had him sitting bolt upright, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. Was someone trying to break in? Ripping back the sheets, Adam ran for the suite entrance, his balance only just catching up with him halfway there. Falling against the heavy wood surface, he pressed his eye to the peephole, breathing hard.

Nothing.

Not quite believing it, Adam dropped to his knees, peering under the narrow gap beneath the door. All he could see was carpet, not a shoe in sight. Maybe just a dream then. Pacing back and forth, Adam went to check his cellphone. The blank, waterlogged screen was hardly a comfort. Right. Nigel’s was the phone that worked. If Nigel wanted to reach Adam in an emergency, he’d have to call the room direct. Somehow, that didn’t seem very reliable.

Staring at the door once again, Adam decided he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he knew for sure. Taking a deep breath, he strode across the floor, wrenching the door open in a single, sudden movement. Well, that settled it, The hallway was completely empty.

Feeling a little foolish, Adam shuffled back over to the bed. He had nearly tucked all the covers back in place all over again, when he heard it. This time, there was no mistake. His pulse whirring in his chest, Adam ran to the window, pressing his ear to the glass. From outside, there had been some sort of violent explosion, the hum of distant yelling echoing in the aftermath. Adam tried to listen for Nigel’s voice, or some kind of sign he was okay, but it was all too far and jumbled. He thought he could make out something like the clatter of metal trash cans, or the screeching of tyres. None of that was particularly reassuring.

It was the very worst feeling, Adam decided, wanting more than anything else to help, but knowing you would only be getting in the way.

_I don’t want you getting injured more than you are right now, gorgeous._

Biting his lower lip to push the tears firmly back inside, Adam reached for the telephone. One call to Loana wouldn’t hurt. She was downstairs already, he could just ask if Nigel was alright, and then stop worrying about it.

She picked up on the second ring. But she didn’t say hello.

“Loana?” Adam thought it sounded very chaotic in the background. “Are you okay? Is everything okay?”

“Adam!” He thought her voice sounded wrong, all strangled and choked. “Adam, stay there! It’s Marc, don’t come-”

The phone went dead.

____

“ _Flaviu, plecăm naibii de aici, avem o afacere nenorocit pentru a participa la._ ” Nigel’s heavy boots connect against the few door next to his, hearing unmistakable giggle coming from the closed door as the metal slams against the adjacent wall. “ _Ce dracu, Nigel. Nu vezi dracului Eu sunt în prezent ocupat!_ ” Snarky, the man called Flaviu responds, but judging by Nigel’s less than composed expression and registering his white as a sheet face which is on the verge of passing out, he pulls his exposed growing interest from the skimpy dressed girl’s mouth and zips his trousers up, grabbing the revolver and a pocket knife shoved down the back of his trousers pocket.  

More so now turned white with anger than anything else, Nigel feels now almost coagulated and tumid cheek leave a bad taste in his mouth, both literally and figuratively. Piercing hazel focusing on the elevator as he feels his vision grow even more dark and murky, he mind controls himself to transfix his pupils on one single man. You fucking reap what you sow. A broken nose, dribbling blood. He can leave the dirty work to Darko and Flaviu. He’d stay in the back, aim with his usual exceptional marksmanship and bring those fucking bastards down one by one. Like falling dominos. 

They all had their bouts of partaking in debaucheries and living a libertine way inside the club, going on power trips and whatnot. Now feeling like his elevator doesn’t go to the top floor when he had been literally almost drowned, passed out and delirious with a high fever, Nigel is ready to make his grand entrance like he always does and wipe out all of the soon-to-be-fucking-dead miserable bastards. Their eager eyes darting from each other, it seems like they’re communicating even without words. Taking calm breaths as a predacious bloodlust boils from the core, Nigel’s dress shirt soon begins to drench with a thin filmy layer of sweat as his trembling slender fingers find his own pocket knife inside the suit jacket. 

The elevator abruptly halts in the middle of first and second floor as the light shuts off, the men hears the hustle and bustle dissipate as the hours lengthen. “ _La naiba! Ia dracului de securitate pentru a obține acel lucru întorc la muncă_.” Darko is the only one who has the access to security who is on-duty for the night, so he speaks through his bluetooth headsets. “ _Marc este deja în interiorul dracului club, am ajuns deja doi bărbați olandeze dracului din ostatic . Acestea nu ar trebui să fie o problemă, dar să aibă grijă de fraieri naibii înainte ca acestea să provoca mai mult scandal._ ” The security’s gravelly voice rattles and echoes off the walls as his voice seems to exasperate more enmity, Nigel’s lips thin as he slips out a snarl, flashing a dissatisfying look as soon as the light comes back on.  _Just fucking great. Now he really has outdone himself being a fucking moron._

As soon as the elevator operates back again and the door slides open, the sight already has the men to have a short fuse. Apparently, Darko had underestimated or understated things as those four men have seemed to raise a ruckus on the main floor. The music blasting and the mere reverberation of the beating rhythm amplified against his eardrums, a mishmash of people hinders his view even further as his searching eyes examine the corridor thoroughly. With his depleted state, nothing seems like a sitting duck for a target practice. The unbearable coppery tang of blood splattering like a Jackson Pollock painting as the maroon carpets soak with crimson blood, most of the bouncers and securities are onto barricading the general crowds from exiting the main area as others give a helping hand on fending off those four men, soon to be dead, but not dying soon. 

His limbs not cooperating as they tremble only with a mere pulling of a trigger. He gathers all of his focus on finding Marc. Churning inside as he gets a gut feeling, perhaps more so from knowing how conniving crook the fucker could be, just like himself. The way towards the center bar and the corridor filled with fluorescent lights is arduously severe as his knuckles get bloodied and scraped, he could even smell the queasy oxidized blood on his skin. Two of them already taken care of, as Flaviu is the one to lash out all with his spiked gloves, Darko with his gun and his pen, disguised as a sharp pick and knife. Nigel blowing their heads off with the handgun for sure kill. Once all the scattered crowds exit and the atmosphere empties, it would be much more easier to concentrate. With disorder and confusion that wouldn’t perturb him when he’s all and well, the slightest movement whirls his head to spin.

While Flaviu works to dispose of the bodies, now drenched with blood and fluids, Darko is quick on his feet to join Nigel as they enter the room, but he stays behind in a distance, covering him from behind. His eyes transfixed to Adam’s bloodstain that paints a permanent hue into the fibers of the carper, his facial muscles twitch as he scowls. Finding Marc there with Loana as his hostage, with the knife pressed firm into her neck. “ _Picătură dracului arma sau e mort._ ” Marc’s voice is gravelly as his eyes pierce into Nigel’s, whose equally intense gaze transfixes against the two figures. Hearing the voice as Darko rounds the corner, with one foot on the doorframe and the other outside, a bullet tears the man’s jugular as the man goes down without any resistance nor sound. Loana’s phone dropping onto the ground as it goes dead, Nigel barely could hear her frantic voice calling Adam out. 

Pupils widened as he feels something press against his abdomen, Marc comes out from the back of the room, just off behind the open door as the cold blade finds Nigel’s skin. “De ce nu vă confruntați naibii până realitatea nenorocit?” Lurching forward as his head drops, the blood jets out from his side as the searing hot blade now stabs quick against his right side. Darko’s blade almost concurrently finding the man’s sternum, both men drop and collapse in a heap as pool of blood spill underneath them. “ _Pierde cămașa… nenorocit și să aibă grijă de el, nu -mi naibii minte…._  and kill that fucking dutch bastards.” Like two fucking peas in a pod. Why didn’t he see it before. That fucking lowlife who had been posing as Marc lacked a certain injury he had exerted. Obvious stab wound he had caused with the broken flute glass. 

“Mișcă-ți fundul naibii până la băiatul tău destul, voi veți obține trusa de prim ajutor.” Throwing Nigel his own jacket and helping him to stand on his feet, Darko’s arm winds around Nigel’s waist as he makes a makeshift tourniquet around the middle. Once they make it to the elevator, Darko is quick to disappear as he turns, speaking through his bluetooth earsets again as he soon looks forward to dispose the two dutch men. 

His movement unsteady as he stumbles across the rest of his way, his vision fills with sanguine and more whirling sensation sweeps over his view. His hands clutching against the spilling blood as each wobbling step trickles a trail of thin line of blood, using his side as he tightly bites his lower lip, shoulder hits against the metal door as soon as he makes in front of his suite, where Adam is.  _Fucking shit, open the goddamn door._  Biting the bullet, he attempts once more as he steadily applies weight against his shoulder, but he finds himself sinking against the carpet, before Adam comes to check on the peephole.  


	23. Chapter 23

“Hello? Loana? Hello?”

Slowly, Adam placed the phone down on the receiver. Loana had been right in the middle of a sentence- she hadn’t hung up on purpose. Something was going horribly, horribly wrong. And Nigel was down there. Adam had never felt more helpless in his life. Or more angry. Why hadn’t he told Darko to get lost when he had the chance? Or insisted Loana come back to the room with them? Turning to the trash can of bloodied clothes, Adam pulled his crumpled shirt and trousers back on, not bothering with the buttons or belt. He could fix that up on the way. Trying to steady his breathing, Adam reasoned that he possibly looked more intimidating in such a state anyhow. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he was certainly frightening enough to himself in any case.

Pelting down the hallway, he hit the elevator button several times. He knew it wouldn’t make things go any faster, but it felt like it helped all the same. The button didn’t light up. Adam pressed it again. Nothing. Whirling around, he tracked down the corridors left and right for a sign of the hotel staff. Empty. The time it would take to fix the technical malfunction was time Adam didn’t have. At the opposite end of the hallway, he saw the fire stairs. That would have to do.

Sprinting back the way he came, Adam burst into the cool, dark stairwell, his footsteps echoing off the hard surface as he wound down each level. It was making him dizzy. He hadn’t really realised how high up they were. Gripping the metal handrail for support, he felt a sharp pain travel up through his wrist. Reeling backward, he stared at his palm in surprise. There was still a sizable corner of beer-bottle wedged in the very centre of it from when Marc had kicked him to the floor.

Steading himself against the concrete wall instead, Adam rounded a few more bends, the throb of the music increasing with each turn. He had to be getting close to the main level. Slowing his pace to a jog, Adam decided to take his chances on one of the unmarked doors. His fingertips reaching for the handle, the sound of voices on the other side made him draw back. Two he didn’t recognise. But one, there was no mistaking. It was the very last voice he ever wished to hear again.

“ _Darko!_  What is this!”

As the door swung back, Adam leapt down the next set of stairs, ducking out of sight. Above him, the overhead bulb cast three shadows on the unfinished surface.

“This is me, you, and a dark, secluded stairwell. Apologies for the lack of pizazz, gentlemen, but we’re out of time. And I get so fucking bored.”

“Is this how you treat your business partners?” a second voice hissed.

“No” Darko drawled. “But you’re not my business partners, are you? You’re two jumped-up assholes who struck a bad deal.”

“You’ll only get so far, making enemies in this way!”

Adam heard the click of Darko’s tongue, a light, amused sound in amongst all the yelling and threats.

“A lot of my enemies say that, you know. But they only say it once.”

A beat of silence, and the first man spoke again.

“We can change the deal. We can give you more! We can give you anything you want!”

“Thank you” came Darko, his voice a bit softer now. Fixated on the shadows, Adam thought he saw Darko’s arm move to his jacket. “But if I want something-” Darko’s arm drew back, a small object closed within. “-I will just take it.”

A low noise slips down the stairs. A second later, Adam sees a puddle of black swiftly follow. It moves so quickly, so quietly, that at first Adam can only stare. Then he realises what it is. And he couldn’t have moved if he tried.

A shuffling of fabric, and the railing illuminates above him. Darko is dialling someone on his cell phone. It doesn’t take long for the person to answer.

“Flaviu. When you’ve finished on the main floor, two more in the stairwell, please. Put them all together.”

As Darko slips the phone back into his pocket, Adam holds his breath. Without all the talking bouncing off the walls, the space is awfully silent. And somehow, he doesn’t think Darko is in the mood for company. Turning his head to one side, Adam catches a glimpse of the very last door, only a short dash away. That must be the one to street level. Replaying his arrival to the back-alley of the club, Adam wasn’t sure there were any suitable places to hide even if he did make it outside. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a second option.

Counting from three to one in his head, Adam squeezed his eyes firmly shut. He could see Nigel better that way.  _Wherever you are, I’ll find you._

Adam snapped his eyes open, about to lunge for the exit. In the same second, he heard Darko turn heel, wrenching back open the door to the main level. As the pounding electronica flooded over the sound of his own heartbeat, Adam nearly collapsed in relief. Darko was gone.

Heading up the stairs instead, Adam tried his best not to look at the two bodies. It was clear Darko had opened their throats with some kind of sharp instrument, Adam guessed a blade of some sort. Perhaps the gunshot would have echoed too loudly within the concrete walls. Or, perhaps Darko just wanted to. Adam wasn’t afraid of the dead men. They didn’t look very nice, exactly, but they couldn’t do anything to hurt him now. Adam wondered what they had done to deserve to be killed.

Stepping carefully over the pile of sprawled limbs, a slip of gold leaf paper caught Adam’s attention. He had seen it before. Leaning down, Adam gently removed it from the man’s jacket. There was only a bit of blood on the corner, the rest was all very legible. Some kind of business contract. Skimming over the handwriting, it all seemed to be written in code- nothing that was being traded or purchased was made explicitly clear. The only words that made any sense to Adam were “ _for a_   _long lasting partnership_ ”. Glancing down at the mess at his feet, Adam didn’t exactly agree that those terms had been adhered to. At the very edge of the page, he saw four scribbles. The first two were no more than initials. The next was large and dramatically flourished- Darko. The last brought his heart to his throat.

_Nigel._

Nigel had something to do with this? Hadn’t he seen Nigel raising his glass with two very similar looking men through the window of the meeting room, only hours before? The thought was far more sickening than the sight of blood. If Nigel had promised some kind of alliance with his two guests, why were they now lying dead on the floor, in his very club, by the hand of his closest associate?  _A long-lasting partnership._

…was this how Nigel valued his partners?

His eyes blurring, Darko’s smile brimmed from the depths.

_“For someone who says they’re… what was it… Nigel’s partner…you don’t seem to know much about him, do you?”_

Stuffing the paper back inside the man’s jacket, Adam looked toward the door Darko had taken, his fingertips hovering at the handle. He could pull down, and in an instant, see everything that happened for himself. Whatever it was.

Instead, Adam took the stairs three at a time. He was back at the door of the hotel suite in half the time it had taken to get down. And Nigel was there, knees on the carpet, his torso bound in Darko’s jacket, slick with his own blood. Adam looked at him.

He already knew.

____

Lying through his teeth had been Nigel’s expertise. Feigning innocence had been another one of his traits. A person who is capable of completely lying and smiling at the same time. Although he had passed out in the midst of the toast and he would’ve have put his heart into making it as genuine and believable as it could’ve been. Having killed his ‘long-lasting’ partners this way with Darko innumerable times, this act of deceit came innately. The rationale behind it had been getting rid of his enemies, once an enemy, they disappear from the face of the earth the next. Getting rid of them had been easy. Almost too easy, even though none of the things would go unscathed. Darko preferred staying in back while Nigel did all the footwork. Their associates in charge of disposing the corpses. The method worked almost effortlessly, if such occasions like this didn’t happen. There were still a few tweaks they had to do here and there to perfect the process. Busting their butt in this way had garnered them even more profits and money than they ever could. Who could ever don a Versace shirt and carelessly trash it as if it was a mere piece of dirty rag?

Never having to face the music for their clandestine crimes, the crowds would never know what had really happened. They would merely see Marc and other three men causing ruckus and having ruined their night of debauchery and copulatory pleasures, stripping off their money. Krystal Glam had been good, wherever the hell these ruffians were from, the name of their establishment would soon slip from their minds. His mind reeling the cadence of the night, this situation is when the lightning strikes. 

The knot around his middle had been impossibly tight, preventing the blood jetting out from the quick in-and-out stab wound. Who would’ve ever known, if Darko hadn’t been behind him to cover him up? He would surely been eviscerated. Not too long ago, he had been rendered incapacitated due to the prominent scar which he wears it like a diamond. His battle scar, not unlike such occasions like this where he had been almost gutted like a fish. He merely accepted the physical pain as him paying the piper. Rolling in riches meant there would be the unpleasant result he had to face. It had been inevitable. Sometimes it’d be Darko, other associates paying with their lives, more entourages recruited. The secret of their fame in the club had been that they schemed early on to assemble a close-knit associates early in their career, since their mid-thirties when they had first partnered together.

Knowing Darko simply as a posse before Nigel was one of the bouncers inside the club, he casually picked up the course of actions, how the club got by under a different management. A poor one at that. All he could see were legal bars barely maintaining minimum profits to drag on the business and the suites were at best, shoddy and unorganized. A mishmash of eclectic styles that seemed incoherent to each other. They devised a plan to cook the books and had corrupted the club, taking it over by the force. Like a corrupt prison warden cooking the books for years and evading regular audits, they knew the club like the back of their hands and once their proposition blossomed into a plan, it was easy to jeopardize the club into foreclosing and they were quick to act on their feet.    

Since then, he acted like a creature of habit. Not that his routine had been set in schedule, but it all revolved like this. Once Darko and him made his prospect ‘partners’ to sign the contract with the promised shipment in person, they would get the money wire transferred first and then getting rid of them would be proficient. Being a nocturnal individual also had helped, as the club thrived most between midnight and four am. 

Blood and sweat drenched ashen bangs veiling his face as his knees dig into the carpet, his thick lashes flutter uncontrollably as he feels searing pain soar upward on his torso. As much as the makeshift tourniquet had been aiding to prevent more blood from spilling out, making his mark permanently on the concrete as his bleary eyes trace the dense crimson glistening against the illuminating fluorescent light above him, the high fever is soon pushed out of his mind as more insufferable pain brings an exceedingly intense stabbing sensation. Shifting his position as his back thumps heavily against the wall behind him, he knows the paper. He just signed it only hours ago. Downstairs, where he had passed out, their death contract. 

Feeling like a deserted and stranded person in the desert as he sees a mirage, the hot air mass rising in slow speed inside his head as his temperature reaches a record high. A lump lodges in his throat as he desperately tries to swallow, the only sound he is able to emit is a weak groan, emaciated and enervated more than ever without viand in his system and blood slowly but surely weeping out of him in small amounts. Slippery hands sliding against the metal door as he paints a set of smear against the surface, his legs are buckling unconsciously, muscles giving away as he slouches heavily against the doorframe. Heavily set eyelids closing as he applies more pressure on his palm pressing on the wound, trembling fingers reach for his work phone, slender fingers ghastly pale as he dials Darko’s number. “I fucking told you to stay in the room, I don’t want you to get hurt. Where the fuck have you been?” 

Letting out an oscillating sigh as his breathing shakes, he counts three in his mind before sighing deeply. Heaving much heavier sigh as his forehead presses against the cool metal of the doorframe, he leverages with a leg on his uninjured side, pressing his stab wound against the wall to apply more pressure. “Call Darko and tell him to bring the fucking kit right now… Fuck. I’m guesstimating that I don’t have much fucking time before I pass out. P-please.” His languid and husky voice stretching out, his body seems to be flagging like a glob, about to be molded onto the floor. 

He wishes he could take a drug of oblivion that would render him unconsciousness and forget about all of this. The rhythmic dial tone seems to be lengthen even more. Darko picks up after five times and the elevator rings and slides open on his floor.  


	24. Chapter 24

Adam walked down the corridor. Nigel looked so different, all hunched upon the floor, his face contorted in pain. It wasn’t the first time Adam had missed something so incredibly simple, that to anyone else, would have been plain as day. And it wasn’t the first time he had been deceived. The worst part was that, together, those two facts  _weren’t_  the worst part. If Nigel had omitted certain details about his business, as much as Adam hated it, he understood that was likely for his own protection and peace of mind. The worst part was, now that he knew exactly what Nigel was capable of… Adam still didn’t want to leave.

“You did ask me to remain in the room. And you’re right, I didn’t.” Adam reached down, picking up the cellphone as Darko’s number flashed up on the screen. “Because I’m not a child, Nigel. I’m not just going to stay put, knowing you were in trouble. And even if I did get hurt…” he looked down at Nigel’s waist, the blood seeping through the brace of the jacket “…at least I’d get hurt trying to save you. At least it would be for something that was  _right_ …” he glanced at the pistol, hastily shoved behind Nigel’s belt “not something that is so, so wrong.”

On the other end of the line, Adam heard Darko answer the call. This time, Adam spoke first.

“You need to bring the kit up to the hotel room.” Adam’s voice was flat, emotionless. “Or Nigel will die.”

Adam stood in the hallway until the man arrived. Darko clearly wasn’t too exhausted to offer a sneer in Adam’s direction, which Adam found vaguely reassuring. Darko evidently had no idea they had had been in the stairwell together only minutes before.

As Adam held open the door to the suite, Darko wrapped his arms around Nigel’s torso from behind, dragging him into the room.

“We need to get him up on the table.” Darko gestured to the small boardroom setup adjacent to the bathroom. Adam remembered wondering what such a large desk might be used for. Field surgery hadn’t been his first on his list.

Maneuvering Nigel’s legs onto the hardwood surface, Adam tried to arrange him in a way that didn’t look so… floppy. It wasn’t working. At his side, Darko opened the case he had brought with him. Adam saw a variety of stainless steel instruments, needles and medications within, none of which appeared like they might be purchased over the counter.

“You may not want to look.” Taking a pair of scissors, Darko leaned over the wound, slowly cutting through the surrounding shirt material.

Adam reached for Nigel’s hand. “Aren’t you going to give him an anesthetic?”

Darko shook his head, rolling up his sleeves and stalking toward the bathroom. Inside, Adam could hear the tap running, Darko calling back over the sound of splashing water. “Not with the shit he’s already taken tonight.”

Leaning down over the table, Adam lay his head just below Nigel’s collarbone, the opposite side to the injury. He could feel the slow rise and fall of Nigel’s chest, Nigel’s heartbeat right next to his cheek. Adam squeezed his hand tighter. There was nothing he could say. Nothing that wouldn’t be a lie. As Darko walked back into the room, Adam could almost imagine he felt Nigel squeeze back.

Adam stopped questioning Darko on what he was doing several minutes in. Firstly, he reasoned Darko might need his concentration, and secondly, he wasn’t sure Nigel needed the running commentary. But throughout the whole procedure, Nigel didn’t once yell, or flinch, or need to be restrained. Adam had positioned himself above Nigel’s shoulders, just in case. But all Nigel did was look up into his eyes. And all Adam did was look down into his.

When Darko finally stepped back, surveying Nigel’s abdomen with grim satisfaction, Adam allowed himself to smile. It was a sad sort of smile, not because he wasn’t happy Nigel would be okay… but because he wouldn’t be around to be okay with him.

Wiping his hands on a bloodied towel, Darko collected the used medical implements into a sterile container, the rest of the emergency kit left abandoned on the sideboard. For the first time that night, Darko looked somewhat drained, the shadows beneath his eyes near as deep as Nigel’s.

Adam gently unthreaded his fingers from Nigel’s hand. Bending over the table, he touched his forehead to Nigel’s own, his nose brushing against the sweep of matted hair.

“I’m going now, Nigel” he whispered.

Since Nigel couldn’t get up, Adam leant further forward, pressing his lips to the side of Nigel’s mouth. It was the first spot Nigel had ever kissed him.

After that, he couldn’t look.

It wasn’t until Adam was halfway to the elevator that Darko caught up with him. He didn’t look quite as tall or intimidating now, all flecked with blood and sweat, his shirt untucked, his eyes undone.

“Maybe you should come back.” For once, Darko didn’t sound like he was giving an order. “You saved him, you know. You saved him, at the river. And before that too.” Darko’s face twisted to something awful, which Adam could only guess meant he wasn’t enjoying himself. “You may not know everything-” Darko gestured to the walls around him, then down toward the handgun still wedged in his belt. “But know this. You saved him.”

Adam turned toward the door of the suite, the slick of blood still grazed across the threshold. He closed his eyes, seeing the gash dripping down Marc’s face, the jagged bottle still clutched in Nigel’s hand. And then the black puddle, dripping softly down the stairs, the splattered contract still warm against the dead man’s shirt.

“No.” Adam looked back up. “I didn’t.”

____

The phone call seems to drag on in his mind, slowed as the time stretches. Darko should’ve already known about his stabbing, because that’s when he had ambushed Marc out of almost nowhere. Although Nigel had known all well that his most trusted associate and partner-in-crime was always with him and no matter how much they hurled profanities at each other and to the outside eyes, seemed they didn’t care for each other. Actions prove much more than the words. Behind the rough facades, they were the most closest buddies, but Darko’s steps seemed to drag on his feet. He knows he’s not going to die with this injury, he had much worse happen to him.  

Foggy and hazy, but still penetrating eyes shooting up to flash something akin to a glower, Nigel’s eyes lower as he hears the rhythmic clicking of Darko’s bloodied oxfords. He can almost see the distinctive Prada logo on the heel of the luxuries. They were all donning in those. Associating themselves with power, wealth, nobility, luxury and ambition. “It’s not your fucking job to save my ass. I don’t need to be saved and this is what I fucking get when I try to make my way. You stay the  _fuck_ out of it.” It might be the sense of entitlement, but he did want Adam to stay in the room for two main reasons. First, to lock the younger man out from all the fucking ruckus of flurrying bullets and swishing knives, causing more blood to flow than necessary, thus saving Adam from getting more injured and second, what his true capability and his real ‘business,’ how he made illicit and unsanctioned money off by exerting his habitual use of violence and literally extorting money off from his clients who were supposed to be his ‘long-time partners.’ 

His hastily shoved handgun slippery and heavy against his back, his face distorts further as he is hoisted up, his own arm leveraging himself against Darko’s shoulder. The spacious desk would be where he’d most likely pass out from exertion and fatigueness. Not even trying to put unnecessary energy behind his limbs, his body moves like a rag doll, something that he cannot control himself. With each contraction of the wound, more blood along with fluids spill over the surface, too scorching and hot as his heart palpitates, robbing more vitality and strength away as his back arches, trembling hands weakly grabbing onto the edge of the table. His gold-capped handgun, glistening and still moist with fresh blood, rests against his hand.   

Skin flushed from the heat meeting more cooler air of the suite, Nigel couldn’t help moaning in pain as more shirt material frees from his drenched skin. Lips thinned as his jaws set tightly, he squeezes Adam’s hand, calloused tips brushing against more softer and cooler hand. Feeling like a ball of fire ready to consume every living thing down in its path, ashen locks stick to the side of his head, more perspiration coating and rolling off his chiseled cheekbones and down his taut neck as the luxurious shirt becomes no more than a sheared piece of stained rag. Thumb stroking over Adam’s hand, he can feel the veins on his hand throb and every inch of his muscles ache with torridness, parched dry and burning as he pushes back more prickling sensation radiating from the back of his eyeballs. 

Another hand entangled in Adam’s curls, damp with sweat and bit of blood. Maybe his own blood as well. Surely his still injured hand was letting out blood in minute amounts as well. He could still feel the tiny particles of glass glued on his skin with his sweat and blood. He wants to lift the hand and stroke the side of Adam’s face, look into those blue eyes that seem to contain the constellations and celestial bodies and immerse in them. So he hopes.

Realizing that his movements he had played over in his brain a mere daydream, hand squeezing had been real. At least he was able to put some strength behind it. The whole raking through Adam’s curls had been his imagination. He had looked into Adam’s eyes, weak, weary, stripped of effulgent vibe. He doesn’t have to speak nor focus on what Darko is doing with the wound. Of course, the separated skin continues to trickle blood and paint his flushed skin with more crimson. The disinfectant soaked towel wiping his wound clean, more of the rubbing alcohol cleaning where Darko would stitch him up. And with the lock of fiery hazel against bright blue, he knows what is coming. Maybe Adam is still torn between staying or leaving, but Nigel is in no position to chase the younger man down. Where this would lead would remain to be seen, but things had been grim. His injury hadn’t been grim and he had gone through more excruciating pain than this not too long while ago. His first agenda though, is getting this fucking stab wound stitched with proper suture and recovering from the high fever.   

Knowing what is coming, both Adam’s departure and what Darko is doing with the curved needle and the suture, a silent, continuous stream of tear flows like a river, serene by outside, tempestuous and whirling in inside. His drumming heartbeat proves it. The skin-to-skin contact, Adam’s nose against his wet hair, warm lips against the corner of his own. The stitches take the briefest time and he doesn’t dare make any nose, except deep from his throat, a strained and almost inaudible groaning in agony. His body is the one that reacts more, as it writhes, his vertebrae arching even more sharply as his biceps taut, matted hair fanning around his head as chin points up.

Fluttering eyelashes heavy against his skin, the bright light of the suite gradually fading as he feels the usually cold metal heated against his fingertips, overpowering blend of iron-rich blood along with his usual scents, sour note of coke still visible on his cupid’s bow, sweat, his tears still trickling down along his angular features as his awfully washed out complexion deepens even more ash-pale. As soon as Darko cuts the excess suture off, he is out like a light.  


	25. Chapter 25

Things always seemed better in the morning. It was one of Adam’s father’s favourite expressions. And in this case, it couldn’t have been less true. Adam stepped from the doors of the hospital and into the sunlight. His body was somewhat fixed- his hand all bandaged up and his nose realigned, now only a few bruises on his cheek and ribcage to tell the tale. But his heart couldn’t have been more broken. And it wasn’t something any amount of ice, sterile gauze, or encouraging words could ever mend.

Adam hailed a taxi. It made him sad, knowing that Nigel would have dragged himself from his deathbed to be the one to take Adam to the hospital and back home again, making sure he was alright. But Adam hadn’t let him. Instead, Adam knew  _he’d_  been the one to leave Nigel on his deathbed. But it was a bed Nigel had made for himself. And one Adam couldn’t share any longer.

As they wound through the streets of Bucharest, Adam fumbled his keys from his pocket. He had returned to Nigel’s apartment so late that he’d forgotten to leave the spare behind. Instead, he had simply gathered a few clothes and his essential items, and made for the nearest clean and simple motel. There was nothing nice nor expensive about the room he was now staying in. But after the night previous, Adam had had enough of nice and expensive to last forever.

Adam looked up. Biting his lip, he saw that the cab driver had purposefully taken him the long way, adding at least another fifteen minutes to the journey. Plus a detour right past the very flat he hadn’t planned on visiting again. As they neared it, slowing as a group of cyclists veered into the narrow road, Adam promised himself he wouldn’t look.

It was yet another promise he was going to have to break.

“Oh, slow down please!” Adam yelped. Through the window of the car, he could see Nigel’s Ducati motorcycle, the custom red and black finish hardly blending in to the surrounding streetscape. Darko must have driven it back for him. To Adam’s great relief, Darko’s black Mercedes was nowhere in sight.

“You wanna stop?” the driver looked disappointed. He had, after all, just been cheated out of the extra miles he was going to earn on the scenic route. Adam nodded, tipping and thanking him regardless.

Walking quickly along the pavement, Adam wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing. But all he could think about was Nigel’s lonely and empty flat, and the fact that if Nigel was already home from the club, he wouldn’t have any groceries. And he definitely wouldn’t be in a state to go out.

Veering into the corner store, Adam grabbed a basket, filling it with a few things he would probably like to eat if he wasn’t feeling his best, and a few things he probably  _should_  eat if he wasn’t feeling his best. Shaking out some notes onto the counter, Adam didn’t make eye contact with the server, pacing into the deli next door without stopping to think. Inside, he had to point to a picture on the menu, the only thing not written in Romanian. But it looked like a soup, and though Adam knew it wasn’t Nigel’s favourite, it would have to do.

By the time Adam had set the plastic bags down on Nigel’s doorstep, his hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly get the key in the lock. He still hadn’t decided whether he hoped Nigel was home or not. But if he was, he would need to rest, so Adam made sure he was as quiet as possible. With the heavy handle, the squeaky door and the rustling of the shopping, it was easier said than done. But as Adam stepped into the living area, he saw all the lights were off. Not home then.

Setting everything on the kitchen counter where Nigel could find it, Adam put the soup in the fridge. He thought about leaving a note. But then, since he hadn’t even left a note to tell Nigel he wouldn’t be back, he didn’t think  _‘soup in the fridge’_  was the most appropriate parting statement.

It wasn’t until Adam had double-checked the balcony doors, not wanting Nigel to be robbed as well as stabbed in the same twenty-four hours, that Adam realised he wasn’t alone. Nigel was sprawled untidily on the lounge, his chest bare and his abdomen heavily bandaged, his breathing low and steady. The ache starting again in his chest, Adam wondered why Nigel wasn’t sleeping in the bedroom. Was there something wrong with their bed? Uncertain, Adam decided to check, finding everything exactly as he left it, the covers and blankets still firmly tucked from when he had made it this morning. Which now seemed like several years ago.

Tracing back to the kitchen, Adam filled a glass of fresh water, then returned to carefully place it at Nigel’s side. A bit closer now, Adam could see the sweat pooling at the ridges of Nigel’s face. Reaching down, he brushed the edge of his hand against the tepid skin, imagining it felt a little less fevered than the night before. That was good. Gently, Adam pressed his lips to Nigel’s forehead, breathing in the scent of his hair. Ash. Blood. Drink. Death.

…and home.

Adam had to go. Pulling himself up from his knees, he scooped the keys from his pocket one last time, snagging the small silver one that Nigel had given him. On the rooftop. Under the stars. He could still remember the way Nigel had looked when he did- all hopeful and uneasy and incredibly un-Nigel.

Adam twisted the key free from the rest. He placed it next to the mail. And then softly closed the door behind him.

____

After checking Nigel had passed out for the night, with a cock of his head and the most genuine expression of the night, Darko’s two fingers place on Nigel’s tilted head, just above the jugular on the inked surface to check for the pulse. Weak and fluttering, but still beating nonetheless. Turning the broader and taller man sideways and wiping the excess blood off from the distorted and raised edge of the stitches, the bandages unroll against Darko’s hand with more than necessary force and he manages to tear it in the middle. Letting out a short burst of huff as he discards the crumbled and bloodied bandages, crimson smearing off from Nigel’s wound and from his own hands, Darko manages to tightly wrap his companion with the last tug, Grunting as the heavier man slips out a shaky groan and as his arm limply falls against the table, the bloodied and slick handgun falls with a clank. 

The only affectionate gesture that he is able to show after the rundown of the night’s what seems to be a cock and bull story, the cloth wets as the faucet turns, cold colliding against the heated and deathly pallid skin which continues to pour sweat onto the hardwood surface. “Avem nevoie de a reduce unele slack nenorocit după toate astea scandal nenorocit. Odihneste-te bine.” Wiping his hand with a clean hand towel and grabbing Nigel’s handgun and placing it beside Nigel’s hand again as he wipes the excess blood clean for the last time, he sighs heavily once more and mutters. “Nu am putut opri pe băiat nenorocit destul de al tău. Adam, a fost faptul că numele lui nenorocita?” With that and a firm squeeze on the unconscious associate of his’ shoulder, Darko leaves Nigel alone and thinks about retreating to his suite to drink that vintage vodka he had eyes on for a while, as he does, a rough tug of his collars sends one of the buttons to fly across the bed. 

Just before the door closes with the hard slam, Nigel rouses a bit and his graveled voice halts Darko to his appalled surprise. “ _Unde dracu crezi că te duci_?”  _You sure are a fucking tenacious and tough bastard_. Looking over his shoulder, Darko smirks and grabs Nigel’s keys, his flat and bike key. “ _Mișcă-ți fundul naibii, am să te duc acasă_.” Darko figures, with the night’s events, he’s ready to get Nigel home and leave the club altogether for now. He could order Flaviu around and have the establishment up and running, meticulously cleaned for another day of business.  

Immediately feeling the wound emitting searing pain as his stomach contracts. No food in his system, more tear clinging and streaming down the side of his sallow complexion, he hadn’t been completely out after all. Lights out, until his body gathered enough strength to get the fuck out of the club and retreat to where he belonged. Usually, he would have crashed inside this room or inside his office in the basement where his real clandestine kill room had been with the endless amounts of butts, whiskey bottles dry to the bone as he practiced shooting as he watched the shards shatter into million of pieces, just like his own heart. Palpitating heart drumming against his head as his hand props against the corner of the table as hand rounds, the club’s quite, sanguine-filled, fluorescent-illuminated interior is too vividly bright and effulgent for his liking. 

His still trembling fingers as firm as he can grab it, he pulls another Versace shirt from the rack and dons the blazers, less than put together and less than pleased. A deep crease marking his forehead and just above the bridge of his nose, with his alacrity completely depleted, the fifteen-minute drive to his bleak and pitch-black flat feels longer as his mind reels towards his future. Once again, his future looks as bleak as his apartment. Fifth floor, closest to the roof to a private access, obscured and dank, cold and silent.

Rows of streetlights, the district filled with nightclubs and flashing neon signs that bring none of the zest and ebullience of nocturnal life, his tepid hazel gazes far on the distance up to the stars. Orion. Scorpion. This night might be the night which it robs him of strength and vitality altogether. “ _Lăsați naibii bicicleta acolo, ne vedem mai târziu_.” Darko is never hesitant, but this time, he is. Knowing that Nigel doesn’t take any help when it becomes overly critical and when he absolutely needs it, he flags for a taxi and takes off with a raise of his hand.    

_Fifth fucking floor. Without an elevator._ The house had served him well and had its perks with having Adam over, but with that gone now, his body surrenders multiple times on the staircase, each enervating step too exerting against his drained body. As soon as he makes up to his pitch-black flat with his usual elements surrounding the atmosphere, cigarette butts, whiskey bottles strewn all over the floor around the couch and empty zip-lock bags of coke. 

With the door slammed shut and locked, his trembling hands move to unbutton two layers on top, crashing on the lounge with the dawn of light near. Through the tightly shut blinds, lines after lines of faint light draws close-knit pattern on the hardwood floor, having lost all of the lusciousness of a polished surface. 

The shutter slowly closing up as he finally surrenders to much-needed sleep, a mix of sweat, blood and tears gather around the sharp features of his logy skin, the slumber itself is fitful at its best. The blinding light of the early morning upon him, the fogginess in front of him slowly dissipates when he feels warm lips against his pallid skin. With the faint brush of the curls and bandage around the nose, he doesn’t have to confirm that the kisser is Adam.

Finding his own lips chapped and his mouth dry, his half-shut and still bleary gaze locks against the closed door. He still is surrounded by lassitudinous of the night before. Rusty scent of blood against his face as his broad hand brushes against his angular features and feeling his ashen locks still damp with blood and sweat, he sips the water in front of him and pads closer to the shut door. His jocund facade had already been shattered when the night unfolded in such a way and the last thing he could lose is Adam.

Husky voice rattling his chest as he drags his exhausted body across the threshold, the knob turns as he leans against the doorframe, just catching the sliver of Adam descending the stairs. “Don’t. I fucking need you to stay with me.”


	26. Chapter 26

Adam looked up. The last thing he expected to see or hear was Nigel, supporting himself against the doorframe, his voice all coarse and different. And the statement was all too familiar.

Adam squeezed his eyes closed. In an instant, he was right back in his old apartment in New York, Beth at his side.

_“Why do you want me to go to California with you?”_

_“W-what do you mean?”_

_“Why do you want me to go?”_

It was the conversation that had changed his life. Adam had tried to tell Beth he needed her. That she was the person that made him feel safe, and happy, and cared for, when so much of everything else was scary and crazy. But he had said the wrong thing. He had said the truth. Adam had loved Beth with all his heart. But so much of his love had been caught up in the way Beth supported him, that Adam never learnt how to say that it was actually just her he loved the most. He had failed. And then, he had never been so alone.

Now, it was Nigel standing before him, his mouth all torn and beaten, his eyes still half-closed from sleep. It was Nigel who was saying he needed him.

And for the first time, Adam understood how it must have felt, to not know whether the person that you cared about most in the whole world, in fact only cared about what you  _did_ , not who you  _were_.

Adam took a slow step back up the stairs, followed by another, and another, until he stood almost face to face with the older man, looking up at him from beneath his dark curls. Adam felt very small, then, his throat all strangled, his pulse all trembly. It reminded him of their very first meeting. And, just like that time too, Adam had no idea what Nigel was feeling. Or what to expect.

“You scared me, Nigel.” His voice was quiet. He didn’t mean it to be. Adam swallowed, trying to look at Nigel’s face, instead of his feet. It wasn’t working.

“Not because I don’t like crowds, or a lot of noise, or seeing dead bodies.” Adam tried to give a shaky smile. That was meant to be a joke. “But because one day, one of those dead bodies could be  _you_. And you don’t care. You don’t care… about… yourself.”

Adam wanted to reach for Nigel’s hand. Or his cheek. Or wrap his arms around Nigel’s torso, all scarred and bruised, bent toward him. But he didn’t know how.

“But  _I_  care. I care if you’re here. I care if you’re gone. And it’s not a joke to me, Nigel. It’s not something I can just take a chance on. Maybe you don’t know what it’s like to just come home one day, and your whole world has been taken away from you. But I do.”

Nigel already knew about Adam’s father. It had been one of the first things Adam had shared with him. His father hadn’t been a dangerous man, or a risk-taker, or anything else  Nigel was. But death had caught up to him just as easily, and in a single wrong turn, taken him away. What Nigel didn’t know, was that it still haunted him. Just like everything that happened at the river, everything that happened at the club… death wasn’t something Adam could control. And, right next to deceit, death seemed like Nigel’s new best friend.

“And so… I don’t want that to be you.”

Adam managed to look Nigel in the eye, his face crumpling with the effort. He wanted Nigel to take him seriously. He wanted the things he said to mean something, beyond Nigel’s own survival. The truth was, he needed Nigel too. But, like that fateful morning in New York City… Adam couldn’t help feel he had stuffed it up all over again.

____

All too familiar feeling creeps up every vein and nerve of his body as his heavy lids close, lashes still wet from sweat and tears, his forehead still heated, feet wobbling and sinking into a sinkhole. Since adolescent years, while most peers had their heads wrapped around academic subjects, his interests were diverted into taking the first step into the criminal world. Before you know it, he was dealing drugs, coming up with ill-devised schemes to rip off and making off with something at the docks. He could bend someone’s ears with all the atrocities he had done before accidentally killing one. Facing up to the monstrous cruelty that he had exerted upon the man who had been one of his arch nemesis who stole off his ideas to get by, disposing taller and broader body had been definitely more than arduous, but had left him unscathed and uncaught. He have had a history of getting through anything, to bite the bullet and be exceptional at it. And he had seen gang members getting rid of bodies buried in quick-setting cement before. Thus his preferred method when he was killing his supposedly beloved long-time partners to dump them in the deep waters, to rest with the fishes.  

Ever the total package, his darling Gabi was. Her being in love with runty cunt Charlie had been the most bitter pill to swallow for him. No matter how much he denied the fact that she didn’t love him anymore and he had long seen it coming, as it had been in plain sight. The behavior Charlie exhibited were characteristically someone who was in love with his wife. He still can’t come to the terms why his heart caved in at the last moment. When he could have bought Charlie to the fucking limbo, when he had been the one that said Charlie didn’t stand a fucking chance against him and he didn’t fucking register the situation such as this. Ever so hardened with innumerable fights and brawls, with death count piling up, although no evidence pinned him for all those atrocities he had committed, with his primary agenda, only evidence that would pinpoint him to three murders in cold blood gone, all he wished for had been to rejoining with Gabi and live a prosperous life. After all. His Krystal Glam had just reopened after a expansive renovation and became famous by going viral. 

Never had he thought that ever so narcissistic and self-centered Nigel would feel this way, going almost out of bounds in his reckless and unreasonable way to save someone. He had been the sole reason why Marc and bunch of low, worthless bastard punks decided to have a run for it at the club at the most inconvenient time. With the cadence of things the night before, he registers more pain from Marc’s initial blow he had taken, frayed lips, still tasting the faint, yet lingering taste of blood and the raised edge of the cut on his sharp cheekbones visible in his unclear peripheral vision. His shoulders drooping as an arm props against the open doorknob, he stares the crown of Adam’s head, the scent of violence and death still upon them. And unmistakable scent of antiseptic and hospital he abhors.

“That’s what I do, scaring the fucking shit out of people.” In attempt to not be so morose about the seriousness of the situation, his husky tone tries to lighten up, but miserably fails as his low and slowed voice take on monotone instead. This is when lightening strikes, because all his goddamn life, he had to take care of himself. There had been no one around him. Either there were his associates, who he had spent so much time that he had taken on their personalities. Morose, blunt, harsh with words, but he knows that behind the poker-faced facade and uncaring vibe that they emit, they were the only people who he put his blinding trust upon. Then, there were his enemies such as Marc. Who probably wanted to cause Nigel more excruciating suffering than meeting a demise such as what he ended up getting. 

Hazel pupils blowing widely under half-shut and deep set complexion, he lets out a long sigh before continuing. “It comes with the territory. It’s inevitable and I know how you think about death and all that but you know me, I don’t fucking intend to die a premature death just yet. It’ll take more than flurry of bullets and a stab to the side to have me rendered incapacitated.”  _Or dead, by all fucking means._ Filmy hazel meeting equally emotion-charged blue orbs, it takes a bit of an effort, but lips curl in his characteristically smug smirk, the intensity reduced as the corner of his lips quickly return to a slanted smile. “I am going to take a break from all of this. I need it, you need it, perhaps we can recuperate and relax somewhere quiet.”

Call it an unconscious gesture or as to offer the younger man reassurance, Nigel’s slouched and bent body envelops Adam’s smaller frame as an arm winds around his waist, his chin digging into the other’s shoulder as he takes a whiff. Remaining reticent for a bit as he savors skin-to-skin contact, a hand strokes along the valley of the spine. “I know that you care and you won’t fucking lose me.”  


	27. Chapter 27

Adam clung to Nigel’s frame, a lot tighter than he meant to. He didn’t understand so much about people, about body language, or even about love. Somehow, he didn’t think Nigel did either. But he did understand that Nigel was trying his hardest to make it better. And that Nigel cared about him. And that Nigel could get hurt too.

Feeling Nigel’s chin against his shoulder, the gentle line of his hand down to the small of Adam’s back, Adam squeezed his face against Nigel’s chest. His arms wound tighter around the larger man’s torso, shivering with the intensity of holding him again, being with him again, after so much fear and turmoil.

The warmth of Nigel’s skin against his cheek, Adam tried to steady his breathing, which only resulted in him shuddering even more violently. He wished he had got a chance to say this all before he left. To hear this before he left. Before it was too late. Nudging his nose further beneath Nigel’s collarbone, he was almost glad for the mop of hair covering his face, not quite wanting Nigel to see how upset he was. But as he chanced the quickest of glances upward, Adam saw Nigel looked sort of upset too. Or maybe he was happy. Or maybe…

…Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Trying to clear his throat, it took several goes before he was ready to talk, and even then, Adam thought his voice was probably going to sound worse than Nigel’s. He was grateful for Nigel’s hands at his back, the graze of Nigel’s fingertips over his spine, soothing and patient. At least Nigel was waiting for him. Like he’d been waiting at the apartment. Like he’d been waiting…. always.

And then it hit him. There was literally no reason why Nigel, wounded and fevered and barely able to move, would want to come back to this apartment. Except for him. Nigel could just have easily have stayed at the club, had room service delivered, even have Darko checking-in at various intervals. But, barely conscious, he had dragged himself home. Because that was the only place Adam would ever possibly be again.

And now, Nigel had said he wasn’t going back to the club either. Adam tried to speak again. His breath catching in his throat, he ended up half-choking instead, his eyes watering as he tried to give Nigel a thumbs-up to indicate he was alright. His response wasn’t nearly as smooth as he hoped for. But then, relationships never were.

“I would like that. That would be good. Please.” Adam blinked again, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Thank you. I’m glad. And… yes.”

Trying to express all of his feelings at once, Adam wasn’t sure the whole thing hadn’t just come out in a big mess. But Nigel was kind of used to untangling chaos. And Adam was kind of used to mumbling things into Nigel’s chest. And somehow… it all kind of worked.

Adam wasn’t sure things would ever be the same. But that was okay. If his life had always stayed the same, he would never have moved to California. Never taken that business trip. And never met any crazy Romanians called Nigel. With a watery laugh, he realised he would never have met any crazy Romanians called Darko either, but that was beside the point. If he chose Nigel now, he was choosing both parts of him, the good and the bad. They wouldn’t be living in a dream… they would be living as equals. With honesty. And… possibly a few less trips to waterside venues in highly unmanageable clothing.

He no longer had his toothbrush with him, his spare suitcase, nor most of his clothes. But he had Nigel. And he was smiling now. And Nigel seemed to be smiling back.

It seemed like a good place to start.


End file.
